


a leap of faith and dance

by torielle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Canon-Typical Violence, Courtship, First Time, M/M, Slow Burn, Unconventional courtship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 13:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torielle/pseuds/torielle
Summary: The war is over, and Shiro is officially introduced to the youngest of the Blades. He's not the only one suddenly interested.





	a leap of faith and dance

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU in that Keith was never a member of team Voltron, and various people who are meant to be dead are miraculously alive in this (because I wanted them to be), but still kind of follows the basic storyline of the show and is set post war (aka Haggar is gone).
> 
> This is my first Voltron fic! I hope I can at least do some justice to these great characters. I'll update tags/warnings with the second part.
> 
> Title is from Marina's _End of the Earth_ (though it's been called "princeling" in my gdocs for the last 4 months).

**1**

By the time Matt joins them, it feels like something of a social affair. And it should be weird, Shiro can’t help but think to himself; this post war world where they sit having lunch in the Atlas cafeteria with royalty and humans and aliens who all helped save existence as they know it. Sitting hunched over a plate of whatever alien vegetable Hunk has managed to coax into resembling a frittata and rubbing elbows with Prince Lotor as he does so is both strange and, in recent months, exceedingly familiar.

“Hey, Keith - come eat with us,” Matt calls out easily. 

It’s not a name Shiro recognises and he can’t help but follow Matt’s gaze - it’s settled on one of the Blades; the small one, who just reaches Shiro’s shoulder. He’s the smallest Galra Shiro’s ever seen, has always seemed doll-like compared to the rest of the Blades. Shiro’s been on missions with him - he even saved Shiro and Lance, once, when a Robeast had their Lions cornered - but they’ve never actually been introduced. Shiro’s never seen him without the mask and hood.

He’s stood with Acxa, an Atlas cafeteria tray in his hands bearing some of Hunk’s frittata, and they both share a look (though how Acxa can see his expression is beyond Shiro), and then they sit down at their table, next to Matt. Shiro realises the whole table is staring at them, and finds himself elbowing Lance, who yelps.

“Come on, mask off - you’re in polite company,” Matt grins, and he nudges at the Blade’s shoulder until he carefully puts down his fork, and taps something around his neck. The mask is gone, then, the hood falling down, and that is … not what Shiro expected. Decidedly less purple than he was assuming was beneath that uniform.

“Sorry, are you - you’re human?”

Shiro elbows Lance again - who yelps again - but he’s glad someone said it, and was biting back the question himself. He certainly wasn’t expecting … this. With this being the pale boy of around twenty sat across from him, a shock of black hair hanging over his eyes, head dipped under the table’s scrutiny.

“I didn’t know there were any non-Galra within the Blades,” Allura muses, giving the Blade a thoughtful look, her fork balanced halfway between her plate and mouth. “However did you end up with them?”

“This is Keith,” Matt finally tells them. He wraps an arm around Keith and squeezes his shoulder and Keith looks mildly uncomfortable, but flashes a small smile at Matt. “He’s half Galra.”

“Fascinating.” Allura continues to appraise Keith, who has started eating with the enthusiasm Shiro would expect of a human boy barely out of his teens.

“So the rumours are true,” Lotor finally contributes. Shiro glances at him; he’s seemingly given up entirely on eating, and is sat with his chin resting on his palm, gaze raking over Keith as he all but inhales his plate of food.

“What do you mean?” Shiro asks.

“That there was a child within the Blades,” Lotor replies. “A half breed.”

“Aren’t you one too?” Keith replies, swallowing a mouthful food. He’s not even looking up from his plate; he seems unconcerned.

“Indeed,” Lotor nods. “Guess we’re rather alike, you and I. No wonder you and Acxa have become friends.”

“She likes him ’cause he’s so small,” Matt comments with a sly grin. Acxa doesn’t react.

“Keith is a good ally,” Acxa says. Her tone is a lot like Keith’s - painfully serious - Shiro realises. “He saved me -”

“- in the third stomach of the Weblum, yes, we’ve heard that tale rather a few times from you,” Lotor smirks.

“And from Hunk,” Lance adds. “Man, Hunk was shitting himself about getting sent on a mission all on his own with an alien. Wait ’til he hears the human percentage inside that Weblum just went up by like … a third?”

“A sixth,” Matt supplies. Lance shrugs.

“I can’t believe we literally fought a war beside you and didn’t know you were basically human. So like - how?”

“How what?” Keith finally looks up from his empty plate, frowning at Lance.

“How’d you join the Blades? Aren’t you like - fifteen?”

“I’m twenty two,” Keith snaps back, and his tone is suddenly fiery. “I’ve been going on missions since I was fourteen years old. Fourteen Earth years.”

“Keith was raised by the Blades,” Matt supplies. “I met him when the rebels joined the coalition.”

“Well now I’m just picturing Kolivan changing a diaper,” Lance grimaces.

“You were an infant needing a diaper change once yourself, I’m sure,” Keith smirks. Shiro feels the corners of his mouth twitching too.

“And how the hell did a Galra end up having a kid with a human?” Lance continues, as though he hasn’t heard Keith. “Was there a Galra invasion on Earth we somehow missed hearing about? You know - before the most recent one.”

“Lance, stop bombarding him,” Matt chuckles. “Keith’s not asking you intrusive questions about your parents.”

“This is the first alien-human hybrid I’ve ever met, sorry for having questions!”

“Lance, he’s not a hybrid,” Allura chides.

“I mean technically, he is,” Matt shrugs.

“Keith,” a voice calls, and they all glance up - it’s Kolivan, stood on the edge of the cafeteria with Krolia. They look as mildly uncomfortable in the loud, crowded room as they always do. “Time to go.”

Keith nods, and he and Acxa stand to leave. Allura stands too.

“It was nice to meet you, Keith,” she says, smiling and holding out a hand to him across the table to shake. “Properly, I mean.”

“The pleasure is mine, princess,” Keith says. He takes her hand and his head bows; he somewhat clumsily brushes his lips across her knuckles.

“Alright, back off,” Lance pushes his chair back as he stands. Allura’s smiling even wider, now, her cheeks a little pink. Shiro’s face feels warm too, just from observing.

“He’s just showing her the correct manners,” Lotor tells Lance. He stands too, and catches Keith’s hand from Allura’s. “I hope we will see more of you without the mask, Keith.”

And then he dips his head and mimics Keith - he kisses Keith’s hand, though, and Lance gasps audibly. Shiro feels a pang of - _something_ , at the sight. He supposes Lotor is just showing his own correct alien manners.

“Maybe you should have kept the mask on,” Matt snorts.

“Keith!” It’s Krolia, this time. She’s frowning.

Keith pulls his hand back from Lotor, cheeks flushing. He looks so uncomfortable that Shiro feels bad, and finds himself wanting to apologise on behalf of the entire table.

“It was nice to meet you. Officially,” he mumbles. His gaze catches Shiro’s, and Shiro gives him an easy smile.

“Bye, hybrid,” Lance calls after him and Acxa. Keith throws a confused scowl back at him, cheeks still flushed.

There’s silence at the table for a while; Lotor is still watching after where Keith has disappeared with Kolivan and Krolia, Matt’s poking thoughtfully at his food and, when Shiro blinks, he realises Allura is smiling at him. He flashes a smile back, before returning his attention to the space frittata.

“What?” Allura suddenly asks. Lance is chuckling quietly.

“Sorry,” he grins. “Just - it’s stupid to say, but. You’ve really changed your tune. It’s a good thing.”

He catches the drips from his soup with an outstretched tongue, splashing a little on his chin, and Shiro wonders for one private moment exactly why the princess of Altea has chosen this guy to be her boyfriend.

“How do you mean?”

Lance shrugs.

“You weren’t all that friendly and welcoming about the Galra not that long ago,” he says. “It was hard enough getting you to agree to an alliance with the Blades because of it.”

Allura frowns down at her half eaten plate of food.

“I agree that I was somewhat prejudiced for a long time,” she sighs. “But the Blades have proven themselves to us as trustworthy allies, and so my views were changed. Keith, especially, has more than proven himself - and my views aren’t changed because I now know he’s also part human.”

“I know.” Lance smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to criticise you. I just - I think it’s a good thing. You made him feel very welcome.”

“Unlike you,” Matt smirks.

“It’s what makes you such a great leader, Allura,” Shiro tells her. “And a diplomat. You’ve expanded your views and are more open-minded and it’s benefitted all of us.”

“Oh stop,” Allura laughs, though she’s blushing, and Shiro can’t help but smile at her. “I didn’t realise this lunch was all to praise me and how far I’ve come.”

“That’s _every_ mealtime, baby,” Lance winks. Shiro feels his smile turning into a snort.

“What did you mean by - _rumours_?” Allura asks Lotor.

Lotor blinks, brow furrowed thoughtfully. He’s been so absent in this conversation since Keith left the table that Shiro had forgotten he was there, except for the floral smell of the Altean shampoo he and Allura both seem to use overperfuming Shiro’s food beside his.

“When my father turned against me - when I was seeking to join your coalition. I heard things, from some of the rebels, about a half-breed in the Blades. One who was only half Galra. I suppose the rebels who told me thought I might be interested due to my own half-breed status, and those of my generals.” He takes a sip of his water. “Just rumours, though. No one seemed to know anything for sure.”

“No one was supposed to know,” Matt says, swallowing his last bite of space frittata; Shiro’s grateful to see it go from his mouth, and knows Colleen wouldn’t hesitate to scold him for talking with his mouth full. Shiro can’t help but feel he wouldn’t be the only one to enjoy watching.

“Why?” Shiro asks. Matt shrugs a shoulder.

“He could be used against them - the Blades.” His face looks so serious, now, and he scratches absently at the scar on his cheek. “Look - you all know by now that Keith can take care of himself.”

“Of course,” Allura nods. “He’s a very skilled fighter - as good as Shiro, possibly.”

_Better,_ Shiro finds himself thinking. Shiro learned what he had to do to survive a year in a Galran gladiator ring; Keith said he’d been going on missions from the age of fourteen. The Blades are all incredible in combat, and if Keith was raised by them then Shiro has no doubt his skills and experience far surpass his own.

“Right. Well … the Galra - the Empire, that is. They wouldn’t necessarily see that. If they knew about Keith … they’d just see the human side of him as a weakness, one that could be used to exploit the Blades.” Matt leans back in his seat, running a hand through his bangs and flashing a quick smile at Nyma across the canteen when she waves at their table. “It doesn’t really help that using him to threaten the Blades would work perfectly.”

“How?” Lotor’s brow is still furrowed thoughtfully.

“You can imagine how protective they are of him,” Matt smiles easily. “It’s not like they treat him like a kid or anything. But - no one outside the Blades knows which of them is Keith’s parent. They all just act like his collective parents and brothers.”

“They’re a family,” Allura says firmly. She squeezes Lance’s hand on the table between them and smiles at him. “Like us, our team.”

Lance grins back, and Shiro does too.

“And every family has a brat - so I guess Keith’s theirs,” Lance says, ruining the moment somewhat.

“Which makes you Voltron’s,” Matt says slyly.

“Remind me to show N-7 what Matt’s hair used to look like before the cool ponytail,” Lance tells Allura. Shiro snorts into his water glass.

\--

Now that he’s been properly introduced to Keith - without the Blades mask - it feels like Shiro sees him everywhere.

Admittedly, the Atlas is something of a galactic activity hub these days - post war, but still very much in clean-up mode and freeing the last planets from the rule of the Empire, there are ships docking the Atlas every day with new refugees, teams going out on missions and those returning. But for the next week, Shiro seems to catch Keith - still small when grouped in with the rest of the Blades he’s usually with - in the corridor, passing in the doorway of the meeting room, in the canteen again. There’s even one moment when Shiro’s just finishing up on the treadmill in the Atlas gym and stepping off the belt, he feels a gaze on the back of his neck. When he turns, it’s to see Keith on the other side of the room, mask off and hood down, hair scraped back into a scruffy ponytail and his cheeks flushed. The punching bag is swinging in front of him, his hands are wrapped, and he and Shiro hold each other’s gaze for a long, weighted moment before Shiro nods, and Keith turns back to the punching bag with a high flying kick.

Pidge and Hunk are wildly fascinated by Keith when they hear about him from Lance, and discuss him seemingly endlessly for days - _does that mean the Galra were on Earth, before they invaded? Do you think he’s got like, secret big furry ears under that mullet? Oh man, this explains why he was strong enough to carry all the scaultrite out of the Weblum!_ \- and their thirst for knowledge reaches such a peak of them staring almost hungrily at Keith whenever they see him that Shiro starts wondering if he’ll have to physically restrain them from pestering Keith. He’d seemed awkward enough having lunch in the canteen with a group of six of them - Shiro doubts he’d enjoy two overly enthusiastic teenagers bombarding him with questions about his heritage which, until recently, was supposed to be a universal secret.

Around a week later, Shiro finds himself standing with Krolia and Kolivan in the briefing room. Keith enters with a couple of the other Blades, bangs in his eyes and his mask off - the Blades all seem to be getting more comfortable with baring their faces on the Atlas now - and Shiro instinctively raises a hand and tilts it in a wave. Keith pauses, glancing beside him; when he realises Shiro was waving at him, he somewhat awkwardly raises a hand and mirrors him.

“I got introduced to Keith,” he tells Kolivan and Krolia as people start taking their seats at the briefing table. Keith stands at one of the walls with the other Blades and some of the rebels. “Officially, that is.”

Kolivan and Krolia exchange a look, despite their expressions being entirely blank.

“I see,” Kolivan says.

“The other paladins are all amazed we didn’t realise we were working with another human all along,” Shiro jokes. “He could have helped when some things got lost in alien translation for us.”

Krolia and Kolivan are again silent, only exchanging another brief, expressionless look. Shiro isn’t really surprised by this; they both rarely crack more than a frown on a day to day basis (though Krolia had been surprisingly enthusiastic for human food that time Hunk made classic mac and cheese, no space vegetation included).

“Well, I look forward to seeing more of him. Now that we know what he actually looks like.” Shiro smiles at them both. “He’s a great ally.”

Krolia raises an eyebrow at Kolivan, and then goes to take her seat at the briefing table. Shiro hears the paladins entering the room, Lance’s voice loud above the chatter. He’s about to cut his losses - no one can say he doesn’t try to make small talk with the Blades - when Kolivan stops him.

“Shiro. There are … rules. If this is something you are looking to pursue.”

“I - sorry?” Shiro frowns, leaning in closer - he assumes he’s misheard something, lost in the noise of everyone taking their seats at the table.

“There is an … etiquette, regarding this. We have not lost all our ways since distancing ourselves from the Empire, and we still uphold many traditions. If this is something you wish to pursue, then I encourage you to familiarise yourself with them.”

“Traditions - Kolivan, I’m sorry,” Shiro feels his frown deepen across his brow, and he leans in closer just as he sees Sam enter the room, followed by Matt, who joins Keith where he’s stood with the Blades at one of the walls, behind the paladins at the table. “I don’t think I understand.”

Kolivan places a heavy hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and gives him a serious nod.

“It is what is most proper. We still uphold respectfulness, as does Keith.”

“Ah, Shiro,” Sam smiles warmly, as Kolivan moves to sit beside Krolia. Sam gestures to the empty seat beside Allura. “Ready to start?”

“I,” Shiro hears himself say, helplessly. He shrugs. “Sure?”

Sam looks confused, but nods as Shiro slides into his chair. He’s not the only one who’s confused as hell.

\--

“And then he said it was - about respectfulness. Being proper. So - what did he mean exactly, by that? Being respectful about _what_?”

“Shiro,” Allura smiles, and Shiro could swear her cheeks are a shade not dissimilar to the pink of her paladin armour. “I didn’t realise you were looking to court Keith.”

There’s silence in the Atlas lounge around the Monsters and Mana board, as everyone takes in exactly what Allura just said. And then Lance breaks it with a very dramatic gasp.

“Oh my god,” he says, pointing at Shiro across the board. “You - you like the hybrid! Oh my god, Shiro’s got a crush on the half alien boy.”

“Lance, your girlfriend’s an alien,” Pidge says, not even looking up from her datapad. “And so is Hunk’s.”

“Even Matt’s is,” Hunk adds.

“Technically, she’s an android,” Coran chips in.

“Even more technically, she’s not even a _she_ , though she told me she’s happy with us referring to her as that,” Pidge says.

“Do you really fancy the Galra kid?” Rizavi leans forward, elbows on her knees and her face propped in her hands. She’s got a sly grin on her face. “The one with the mullet? And the wolf?”

“He is quite attractive,” Leifsdottir murmurs, staring down at Shiro’s paladin figurine, one fingertip tracing its cloak.

“Pretty, one might say,” Rizavi grins even wider. “And he’s got that massive teleporting wolf - he’s edgy, right?”

“I,” Shiro glances around him. He doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t really want to lie, and it would be a lie to deny that he finds Keith … pretty. Handsome.

“Oh my god,” Lance repeats. “You totally do - you have a huge crush on the hybrid!”

“What did Kolivan mean about _upholding traditions_?” Shiro asks Allura, desperate to at least shift the conversation in some direction other than entirely on himself.

“The Galra are very traditional, especially when it comes to courting,” Allura smiles. Shiro feels his face flush. “There are a certain set of rules one must follow to be as respectful as possible.”

“Please say he has to wear the tin can on his head like I did,” Lance murmurs. “Damn alien rituals …”

“Sounds … intense?” Hunk offers up. He’s giving Shiro a somewhat sympathetic look.

“It can actually be very beautiful,” Allura tells them. “My father once said that when Zarkon was courting Honerva, it was like watching the most graceful dance.”

“Dancing isn’t really one of my strengths,” Shiro says, shifting in his seat. He feels uncomfortable comparing him finding Keith attractive to the courtship between two of the greatest threats the universe has ever faced.

“Oh wow,” Pidge finally looks up. “You’re really … considering it, aren’t you? You’re gonna _court_ him. You’re gonna court _Keith_.”

“Like a princess,” Lance snorts.

“Please,” Rizavi huffs. “Kid that pretty? That’s what you call a prince. The little Marmoran princeling.”

“You’ll have some competition,” Allura says. “Now that word’s got out about Keith’s heritage. I’ve seen Lotor spending a lot of time with Dayak recently; I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s been teaching him all about the Galran courtship.”

“ _Lotor_?” Lance, Pidge and Hunk all exclaim in unison. Shiro’s stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Ah,” Coran looks up from the Monsters and Mana board with a thoughtful expression. “Lotor and Keith … now that’s quite a match.”

“It _is_?” Lance asks incredulously.

“I mean, he’s an actual prince,” Hunk says. “And they’re both half Galra.”

He’s again looking at Shiro somewhat sympathetically; Shiro has to look away, feeling extremely confused and overwhelmed.

“The crown prince of the original empire, and the youngest of the Blades,” Coran continues. “That’s certainly one way to bring some unity to the Galra.”

“That sounds very … formal,” Shiro says. He slumps a little on the sofa. “Like an arranged marriage, or something.”

“They can be very successful,” Allura tells him. “Not just politically - my parents’ marriage was arranged, and they fell very deeply in love.”

“I don’t - I don’t want to _marry_ him,” Shiro frowns. “I don’t even know if I want to … you know. _Court_ him.”

“I thought you had a crush on him!” Rizavi sighs. “Man, I was looking forward to watching that mess.”

“Yeah - sorry buddy, but you didn’t stand a chance against Lotor,” Lance says dismissively. “Especially not with Kolivan warning you off the kid; I bet he’s his dad. Anyway - come on, I want to be a mage this time. Or an elf.”

The others settle as Coran starts the opening narration, and Shiro feels himself slump a little further in his seat. He can’t deny hearing Lotor wants to court Keith (and it still feels so weird using that term) makes a little flash of competitive jealousy spark inside of him, but … _courtship_. It’s all so serious, with the end goal being _marriage_. Shiro had barely entertained the thought of marrying Adam when they were together; with his disease, before Allura healed him, it had felt like he hardly had a future to plan for at all.

Shiro’s not sure what he wants, compared to Lotor and his traditional Galran courtship rituals. Shiro just wants - to know more about Keith. To spend time with him. Touch his hair, to see if it’s really as soft as it seems …

Pidge groans as one of the mice scampers across the board.

“Shiro, you died already!”

\--

Shiro hasn’t dated anyone since Adam; since before Kerberos. Shiro hasn’t been with anyone in any way other than platonic in years, now.

After the year spent as Zarkon’s prisoner fighting as a gladiator, and in the year that followed,escaping the Galra, crash landing outside the Garrison and being rescued by Lance, Hunk and Pidge, finding himself back in space fighting the Galra and piloting a massive robotic lion along with Princess Allura and the other paladins, dying, having his consciousness dragged into the Black Lion, a clone of himself attacking the Castle of Lions being defeated by the paladins, and Allura dragging his consciousness back out of the Black Lion and into the clone ... Shiro really hasn’t had a lot of time to consider anything like - _that_.

He supposes that’s not entirely true; there have been a few people to turn his head. A few aliens on rebel planets, who held Shiro’s gaze a little longer than appropriate, some of the MFEs when they were back working with the Garrison, who Shiro wouldn’t have turned away from his quarters. But there was never the time to consider it, let alone act upon it.

He has time now. The war is over, Honerva is gone. They’re rebuilding planets, liberating those still under Galra Empire rule, and Shiro has a job to do, but … he has time, now. And now, he has a body that’s healthy, thanks to Allura. He’s been healed, and now he has time to consider a future, a love life. It’s something he can have, alongside his job. After so long being held inside the Black Lion, alone and without a body, he can find someone to touch him.

He can’t deny feeling _something_ about Keith; perhaps he felt like this even before he knew he was half human. They’d been on missions together, and whilst Keith had barely spoken, Shiro hadn’t been able to stop himself from admiring Keith’s skill with his blade in action, or the way his body looked in his suit, lithe and slender. 

Keith fights fiercely and doesn’t give up - Shiro can’t deny he feels an attraction towards that, even if Lance and the others would make fun of him for crushing on someone for their fighting skills. But Shiro can’t help wondering if there’s something to that, which makes him feel a tugging bond towards Keith; he’s half Galra. He might understand better than any of the paladins or rebels exactly what Shiro went through that first year after Kerberos.

Perhaps that’s all it is, Shiro ponders. Maybe he just needs someone to understand what happened to him, to know what it’s like to be a human amongst the Galra and physically fighting for your life.

He wonders if maybe he should consider a therapist, rather than dating. If there even are therapists practising after the war.

\--

A few days after his conversation with Allura, Shiro finds himself at a banquet welcoming new planets to the coalition, and the table plan has placed him beside Keith.

“Did you organise this?” Shiro asks Allura, blinking at his place-card. Keith’s is sat to the right of it.

“No,” Allura shakes her head; she’s across the table, frowning down at her place setting. “I believe Romelle was left in charge of the table plan, but she wouldn’t have done that on purpose.”

“No?” Shiro raises an eyebrow; Romelle helped orchestrate Lance and Allura’s first date, after all. But he supposes she wasn’t present for his conversation the other night, regarding Keith. And _courting_ him.

“Besides, the plan was for everyone to sit beside someone from a different planet. To encourage mingling.” Allura sighs. “Oh dear. I’m next to Bii-Boh-Bi, and Coran’s down the other end of the table. I swear, he’s the only person who can understand him. At least Lotor will be nearby …”

Shiro pushes down on the twist in his gut - it’s stupid, he doesn’t even know if Lotor is pursuing that, or whether he wants to himself.

When he glances up, though, Allura is giving him a knowing look, and smiling.

“At least you’ll have Ryner to keep you company,” he says, leaning across the table to glance at the other place-cards. “Pidge will be as green as her Lion, she’s stuck next to Slav.”

Allura laughs.

“Here,” she says. She leans forward, meeting him across the table. “Let me fix that.”

She brushes at his hair, where his bangs are falling into his eyes. She smiles at him again.

“I like the haircut. Reminds me of when we first met.”

Shiro reaches up to brush his knuckles across his undercut.

“I used to always have it like this, at the Garrison,” he tells her. “Adam - my boyfriend. He thought it was so dumb, but I knew he liked it.”

They’re both silent for a moment, and Shiro can’t help but notice Allura’s face fall. He’s not sure he’s ever mentioned Adam to her, and now all he can think about is how much has changed since then - not just that his hair is white, now, instead of black.

“This hair makes me look old,” he gives Allura a half hearted attempt at a smile. “Guess we shouldn’t forget I’m still a kid with a dumb haircut.”

“You look very smart,” Allura says, and she reaches across the table again to lay the collar of his uniform jacket flat against his clavicle. “And young. You look exactly like you should - the leader of Voltron.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Shiro grins. They both turn at the sound of the dining hall doors opening, the indistinct noise of chatter drifting in - everyone is arriving for dinner.

“Oh dear,” Allura grimaces. “I should go - Coran’s forced Lance into some traditional Altean get-up again.”

Shiro laughs, watching her dash across to where Lance is yanking at the enormous string of stones around his neck, a rather faint look on his face.

Shiro’s still stood at the table studying Hunk’s menu when something warm brushes at his hand; he glances down to find the snout of Keith’s wolf tucked into his palm.

“Hey,” he murmurs, smiling. He scratches at the wolf’s head. He’s grown, since they first met Keith and the Blades; he’s up to Shiro’s waist now, and he has no doubt he’ll grow even bigger.

“Hi, Shiro.”

He looks up to find Keith stood before him, sleek as ever in his Blades suit. It looks like someone’s attempted to tame his hair a little; it’s brushed away from his face, at least.

“Hi,” Shiro smiles. “Nice to see you again.”

“You see me all the time,” Keith points out. The words come out a little fast, like he’s blurting them.

“Still,” Shiro shrugs. “It’s still nice to see you. I didn’t think this sort of thing was really your scene.”

“Kolivan made me come,” Keith mutters. “Something about _showing cooperation and support_ \- as if we haven’t done that already. The war’s over.”

“It still helps, though,” Shiro tells him, trying to keep his voice easy; this is probably the most Keith has ever said to him unprompted. Keith shakes his head.

“It’s because we’re Galra,” he sighs. “People _still_ don’t trust us.”

Shiro doesn’t really know what to say - the Blades have proven their loyalty above and beyond and are highly respected by the leaders of the coalition. But even Shiro can admit he was a little apprehensive, the first time he went to their base to persuade them to join the alliance. Being in a room full of Galra isn’t a situation many of them would have wanted to be in until not that long ago.

“Keith - he can’t stay.”

Krolia’s joined them; she’s looking down at the wolf. Keith lays a hand defensively on his head.

“I couldn’t just leave him on the ship. He gets lonely!”

“Kosmo can last a couple hours without you,” Krolia raises an eyebrow. She aims it down at Kosmo, who begrudgingly licks Keith’s hand and then disappears with a pop of ozone.

Keith sighs and rolls his eyes, and Shiro has to fight to suppress a laugh - he’s every inch a moody teenager right now. Krolia seems to agree; she snorts, reaching forward to brush her fingers at his hairline.

“Who did this to your hair?”

“Thace,” Keith grumbles. “He threatened to cut it all off. I look stupid.”

“Well it’s nice to see your forehead, at least,” Krolia says, but she messes his bangs a little for him so they fall back into his eyes. She turns to nod at Shiro. “Keep him company, will you? Now he’s pining for his dog.”

Shiro finds himself laughing - Keith heaves a great sigh as Krolia heads down the table to take her seat beside Matt.

“He really does get lonely,” Keith says, dropping heavily into his seat. “He’ll be grumpy with me when I get back to the ship.”

“How long have you had him?” Shiro slides into the seat beside him.

“A long while now. Krolia and I found him as a pup on a mission.”

“He’s grown quickly,” Shiro says. He reaches for the water jug.

“Yeah. There rest of the Blades have a bet on how big he’ll get - I think the most popular choice is taller than Kolivan.”

Shiro grins at him; he’s about to offer to pour Keith water when they’re suddenly interrupted.

“Good evening, Keith.”

They both glance up to find Lotor standing on the other side of the table; he’s standing with his hands folded neatly behind his back, and he gives Keith a long, quiet look before he reaches to place his fist over his heart with a slow nod. Shiro doesn’t need to look to his right to know Keith is doing the same, and though they’re not saying the words Shiro knows what this action means. _Vrepit Sa._

“I’m very glad you could join us this evening, Keith,” Lotor continues. He takes the bottle of wine between their place settings, and offers to fill Keith’s glass. Keith shakes his head.

“No, thank you.”

“Shirogane?”

Shiro also shakes his head - he’s not drunk alcohol in a long time. He doesn’t even know if this cloned body can handle it. Drinking just reminds him of _before_ \- sneaking out of the Garrison with his friends to try and trick the local bartenders into thinking they were of age. Sharing a bottle of wine with Adam on their first date; drinking beer together on the sofa at the end of a long day. It all seems too far away from now - and besides. This is still work, and he’d always rather keep a clear head.

He watches Lotor pour wine for himself and Allura, and then takes his seat beside her.

“Did you receive my memo, Keith?”

Shiro sees Keith nod. He’s gone quiet - more quiet than usual, at least - and he’s sitting up with his back very straight.

“I did. I expect Kolivan would prefer he or Krolia joined you as emissary on any planet visits, though.” Keith takes a sip of his water, holding Lotor’s gaze. “It’s - it’s not really my job. I have no experience in that field.”

“You could, though,” Lotor tells him. Hunk’s team have started bringing out the first course, now, and Shiro tries to listen to his explanation of how he created this dish whilst still listening in on Lotor’s conversation with Keith. “You have the makings of a great diplomat, Keith. With some experience and shadowing myself and Allura, I’m confident you could help bring more planets into the coalition. Help bring us all closer together.”

It’s a very heavy topic for the first course of a banquet - especially when Shiro’s not even sure how many conversations Lotor and Keith have shared - but Keith looks almost … transfixed. He’s looking at Lotor with the most open expression Shiro’s seen on his face.

“I’m - that’s not really a talent of mine. People. I’m not so good at the talking part. Getting people interested.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Lotor says, raising an eyebrow as he sips at his wine.

Keith blinks, and whilst he doesn’t blush, Shiro’s sure he himself blushes enough for the both of them, at such a loaded statement.

“Anyway. If it was something you yourself were interested in learning more about, I can certainly help you.”

“Lotor is very good at that sort of thing,” Allura joins their conversation with a smile at Keith; Bii-Boh-Bih is now making unintelligible noises at Ryner that she seems to have no problem understanding (Shiro isn’t surprised). “It’s something my parents were raising me for, and I still could learn a lot from him.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Princess, we’re a great team together,” Lotor tells her, voice warm in a way that Shiro knows Lance has probably picked up on from down the table where he’s sat between Olia and Baujal of Taujeer - Shiro would bet all his GAC that he’s currently staring daggers their way.

“It’s something I always dreamed of doing,” Allura says, her smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “With my parents. It’s an honourable thing to do, bringing planets together.”

“It is. I’m not sure it’s ever been my dream, though,” Keith tells them both, barely looking up from his plate.

“No?” Lotor asks. “I would have thought someone like yourself - a halfbreed, like me - would relish the opportunity to bring two breeds and civilisations together.”

Keith shrugs a shoulder.

“I always just wanted to fly,” he says.

Shiro feels a slow smile unfurl across his face.

“Me too,” he murmurs - the first thing he’s said in this conversation, he realises. It’s easy to become an observer, an outsider, when Lotor is holding Keith’s attention.

“Now that I can believe,” Keith turns to look at him with a small smile of his own. Shiro feels a helpless rush of - _something_ , pooling through his chest, and he knows he’s not felt this feeling since he first met Adam, reading a detailed report on the Calypso’s mission in the Garrison cadet lounge.

“Guess I should remember how lucky I am - getting to do what I always dreamed of doing.”

“You’re one of the best I’ve ever seen,” Keith tells him, and his voice can’t be anything but earnest. “I’m sure I could learn a lot from you.”

Shiro has to look down at his empty plate so he doesn’t grin ridiculously and give himself entirely away.

Ryner draws them all into a conversation about integrating some of the Olkarion nature based tech with the new designs Sam is drawing up for MFE ship improvements - a discussion Keith is surprisingly animated in - and they move swiftly through the next two courses of Hunk’s banquet. 

It’s not until the empty dessert plates are being cleared away and Allura is suggesting a trip to the Atlas observation deck to wrap up the night that Lotor addresses Keith again.

“By the way - I have something for you, Keith.”

Everyone around them pauses, watching. Keith is still sat in his chair, and he blinks as Lotor pulls what looks to Shiro like a rock from the pocket of his suit, and reaches across the table to place it in front of Keith’s water glass.

Keith picks it up carefully, and turns it over in his hands. It’s grey flecked with red, the perfect size to sit neatly in Keith’s palm.

“Is …” Keith starts, and he looks up at Lotor again with that startlingly open look on his face. “Is this … from -”

“Yes,” Lotor nods. “It’s from Daibazaal. The planet is recovering very well, following Honerva - my mother’s - demise. It’s returning to its original environment, now the rift has been closed by Voltron for good.”

“I’ve never been,” Keith says, weighing the rock in his hand. “My - I’ve heard about it, though.”

“My father always spoke fondly of it,” Allura tells him softly. “It was so different to Altea. But so unique - it’s where the comet landed, after all. The Lions came from there.”

“I could take you, to visit. If you were interested,” Lotor says. They’re all watching Keith look down at the rock in his hand, fingers slowly closing around it.

“Oh wow,” a new voice joins the conversation; it’s Hunk, still wearing his apron and peering down at Keith’s hand. “That’s from Daibazaal? Cool.”

Keith nods silently, looking a little dazed as he continues to stare at his hand.

“Oh - I get it,” Hunk gasps. “A rock from Daibazaal - a rock from your homeland. Step one in the Galra courtship, right?” He looks at Lotor with a grin. “Dayak told me. A rock from the earth of their homeland, and then a rock from yours, to symbolise the joining of two worlds.”

“You had to travel far,” Allura tells Lotor. “That’s very dedicated of you.”

“Yes,” Keith interjects, surprising them all a little. He raises an eyebrow at Lotor. “It’s not my homeland, though.”

“It … it’s not?” Hunk looks from Lotor to Keith, and back again, with a look of confusion. “I thought that’s where all the Galra were from. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Allura’s brow furrows thoughtfully.

“Right. But your homeland is where you were born, right?” Keith says. “I wasn’t born on Daibazaal.”

“I could hardly get a rock from the Marmora base, given that Kolivan still won’t disclose its location to me,” Lotor smiles. Shiro realises, suddenly, how much Kolivan must trust their team, to have allowed them to step foot on the base, let alone for Ulaz to divulge its location to him.

Keith gives a short laugh.

“I guess not,” he says, pushing himself to his feet. “But I wasn’t born at the base, either.”

He turns to leave, and his gaze meets Shiro’s for a long moment; the way he holds it, eyes flashing a little, feels like he’s trying to tell him something. Or willing him to catch on.

“Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

He kisses Allura’s hand across the table - Shiro hears Lance make a pained noise some seats away - and gives each of them a nod before leaving, heading towards Krolia and Kolivan at the door to the dining room with the rock still held in his palm.

Shiro watches them frown down at Keith’s hands as they leave the room, and hears Hunk give a soft snort.

“I swear, that kid gets more and more mysterious by the second.”

Shiro catches Allura smiling - and then he sees Lotor, still staring at Keith’s retreating back, a smile of his own curling at his mouth.

“Yes,” he nods. Shiro feels his stomach twist again, and has an urge to chase after Keith to knock the rock from his hand. “He certainly is a mystery.”

Shiro silently finds himself agreeing - though whether or not he wants anyone to solve the mystery of Keith, other than himself, he’s becoming a little more sure of.

\--

A few more weeks pass of Shiro crossing paths with Keith on the Atlas, exchanging nods and the occasional pat to Kosmo’s head if he’s present, before Voltron is assigned the task of collecting some refugees whose ships are stranded in a star system a few hours travel from the Atlas even with a wormhole. Some of the rebels are accompanying them, having made original contact with the refugees, and Lotor and some of the Blades are too.

Shiro feels instinct and impulse take over his body entirely as he approaches Keith whilst they’re loading the last sets of food and blankets for the refugees into Hunk’s Lion, Lotor following Allura into the Blue Lion.

“Would you like to ride in my Lion?”

The look on Keith’s face can only be described as boyish excitement.

“Are you serious?” He brushes his hair from his eyes. “Fly in the Black Lion?”

“You rode in my Lion already,” Hunk says in a wounded tone.

“You don’t have his skill,” Keith fires over his shoulder, and Pidge snorts loudly as she and Matt walk past. When Keith looks back at Shiro, his face is so animated Shiro can’t help but grin back. “A hundred times yes. Obviously. Shit.”

Shiro’s grin stays with him the whole way onto his Lion, as he’s leading the team out from the Atlas.

Keith is fascinated by the cockpit, barely containing his questions and prodding various controls.

“You’re a very keen flier, then,” Shiro comments.

“You don’t understand,” Keith tells him. He’s standing beside the pilot’s chair and running a hand almost reverently along the Lion’s console. “Out here … Voltron was this great legend. Every kid heard stories about it before bed. Every kid wanted to fly a Lion.”

“I’m impressed the Blades had bedtime stories,” Shiro says, and Keith laughs. He’s still touching Black’s console with great care, respect, and Shiro hears her approving rumble in the back of his mind. He turns his face away to smile to himself.

Keith falls silent whilst Shiro enters their destination into the Lion’s navigation system - so helpfully upgraded by Pidge and Hunk that it’s almost like he’s using standard GPS on Earth - and then he watches Shiro set Black into autopilot for a while so he can study a map of the star system.

“You are - you’re from Japan, right?”

Shiro blinks, hand dropping from the map and inadvertently closing down the hologram.

“How - how did you know that?”

Keith’s staring intently at a smaller map projecting up from the bracer on his wrist; on closer inspection Shiro realises it’s a map of Earth. 

“Am I right?”

“Yes,” Shiro nods. “Well - my parents are. I was born there, but we moved to America with my grandfather when I was still a baby.”

Keith’s zoomed in on the island, somewhere above Osaka, and Shiro’s heart aches so suddenly it takes him as a blunt shock. He’s only been back once, as a teenager, the first point his grandfather could afford the trip. They stayed with his aunt and uncle outside Osaka; Shiro spent every evening in the hot spring in town.

“How did you know?” he repeats. He doesn’t know what to think, how to put a reason to the jumping in his stomach at the fact that Keith looked into this.

“I spent some time on Earth,” is all Keith says, minimising the map and staring instead out of Black’s front windows. Shiro bites back his questions of _when, where, how long_. “I - I learned about Japan. When I first saw you, heard your name - I wondered.”

He doesn’t continue. Shiro finds himself gripping at Black’s controls - somewhat uselessly, given the autopilot - as his mind drifts. It was always something he was proud of, in school - this totally foreign heritage everyone was fascinated by. It’s been so long, he realises, since it was a part of his identity. The moment he was off Earth and taken from his mission, thrown into a prison and gladiator arena, he was just the Earthling. The Champion. No one knew or cared exactly what part of Earth he came from, which island he was born on.

He feels Black again at the edges of his mind, gently comforting, grounding. It’s been a long time since the arena, too.

\--

“So when do we think we’re gonna witness Step Two?” Hunk whispers to Shiro and Lance as they follow the others from the Lions. The refugees had to take shelter on a deserted planet, previously drained of quintessence but slowly recovering following Honerva’s demise, and need to be tracked down.

“Step Two of what?” Pidge breaks away from Matt and N-7 to raise an eyebrow at Hunk.

“Of Lotor courting Keith!” Hunk points ahead of them; Lotor is leading the group and is speaking to Keith. Their shoulders are almost brushing, they’re so close. The other two Blades who’ve joined the mission are following very closely behind.

“And what exactly is Step Two?” Lance scoffs. “Dinner, a trip to the movies with flowers and a bunch of promises you’ll never keep?”

“Sure worked for you,” Pidge mutters. Lance’s squawk of indignation reverberates through their helmet comms. Allura shoots them a look over her shoulder where she’s walking beside Olia.

“According to Dayak, the one seeking the other’s hand must perform a _feat of great strength_ ,” Hunk recites. “It’s to prove their capability at taking care of the other.”

“I can’t wait to see a pretty boy like Lotor lifting boulders to show he can take care of Keith,” Lance snorts.

“Keith can take care of himself,” Shiro says suddenly - the grin the other three share makes his stomach twist awkwardly, and he’s surprised his helmet doesn’t steam up with how warm his face gets.

“There’s some pretty big boulders over there, Shiro, if you feel like proving yourself,” Hunk says slyly, before jet-packing ahead to walk with Allura and Olia.

“Or if you just want to open up the gun show.” Lance waggles his eyebrows, before following in a trail of blue. Shiro rolls his eyes.

“I think they’re forgetting Keith’s probably just as strong as Lotor,” Pidge grins. “Though admittedly, being half Altean as well gives Lotor even more of an edge.”

“You’re just as bad as them,” Shiro sighs.

“Ah, come on boss.” She nudges her shoulder against his. She nods at his prosthetic. “Let’s not forget which of us didn’t even need a bayard for a long time.”

He shakes his head, laughing quietly to himself, as she grins, before jet-packing back to Matt and N-7, leaving him to bring up the rear alone.

\--

Lotor gets his moment once they’ve found the refugees.

The planet was abandoned decades ago, according to Allura, after the Galra drained its quintessence, and has been deserted and dead until only recently. Hunk and Matt and Pidge are fascinated and have to be persuaded to focus on the mission over taking soil samples to study the planet’s regeneration. Shiro feels a great weight of sadness at how decades ago still registers as fairly recent in the length of Zarkon’s reign, that this terrible thing happened before he was born and yet so recently.

The refugees have taken shelter in the abandoned husk of a town, and there are a few aliens working on the broken down ships on the town’s outskirts when they approach. Lotor and Allura immediately go to speak to them, Olia and Matt jogging after them, and it’s a weird relief for Shiro to not be taking the lead in this instance.

Hunk, Pidge, Matt and N-7 get to work on the ships, Allura and Lotor and Olia start to gather the rest of the refugees. Shiro and Keith are sent out into the far edges of the town to collect anyone who may have wandered further out to seek shelter - the town really is a husk of a community, with most of the buildings falling down and apart. It’s dangerous enough an environment, even with how deserted the planet is, that Shiro’s stomach is tight with anxiety as he and Keith start guiding refugees back to the ships.

Working with Keith is good, though; he’s efficient and smart, but he’s careful with the children and Shiro can’t help but watch him. It’s especially good when, once they’re doing a last scan of the area and the last of the refugees are being safely boarded onto the ships and the Lions, Keith starts talking to him again.

“So, have you been?”

“Been where?” Shiro’s jet-packing through a crumbling doorway and his feet land roughly on stone, the shock of it jolting through his knees. The gravity’s a bit weird on this planet.

“Japan,” Keith says, following Shiro through the doorway, shining a light around the gloomy room just in case. The beams in the decrepit roof are creaking painfully; it sounds like a strong breeze would be enough to break them. “After you moved to the US.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow almost to himself at Keith’s easy language.

“Just once. How long were you on Earth, exactly?”

Keith stumbles on the uneven stone floor and a cloud of dust blooms around them in plumes; Keith taps at his chin for his mask as he waves his hand to clear the air.

“A while,” he says.

“Whereabouts? And when?”

Keith cocks his head at him.

“Confidential, I’m afraid.”

“Oh yeah?” Shiro’s still shining his own torch around the room, carefully jet-packing through another doorway and into an even darker room. The floor is even more uneven here, and he has to grasp at the crumbling walls of the building to stay upright. “But you’re allowed to quiz me about my life?”

He hears Keith carefully step into the room in his wake.

“Not my fault you answered.”

Shiro finds himself grinning.

“You little -” he starts, turning to laugh at Keith, just as the beams in the roof give a last ominous creak, and then suddenly Keith’s shouting his name and he’s being thrown across the room.

“Keith!” is all he gets out, before two of the beams crash onto where he stood - on top of Keith.

Shiro hits the far wall with a slam that makes every bone in him rattle, and feels his ankle break as the wall crumbles around and on top of him.

“Keith!” Shiro pushes desperately at the rock covering his ankle, gritting his teeth against the burning ache in the bone, and jabs frantically at the comms in his helmet. “Guys - we need help _now_ , Keith’s trapped -”

A slew of shouts and noises of concern roll out through the comms and Shiro has to block it all out as he works at getting himself free, ears still ringing from the crash.

“Keith!” he shouts again; there’s so much dust in the air from the impact that he can’t see how badly Keith’s trapped, and he doesn’t answer Shiro’s shouts. Panic flares hot through Shiro’s chest but hits his stomach as ice, and he hears himself yell in pain as he finally manages to shift the stone from his ankle and throws himself forwards.

“Guys!” he shouts through the comms again, fumbling blindly in the thick air for where the beams hit Keith.

“Shiro - we’re nearly there,” Pidge pants in his ear.

Shiro’s hand grasps at split, rotting wood and he pulls as hard as he can. It barely shifts, but he hears Keith groan at the movement.

“Keith,” Shiro gasps. His arms are trembling. “I’m getting you out - just hold on -”

He tugs again, but with only one working leg he can’t get the leverage to move the beam in his grasp more than an inch or two. His ankle flares hot when he accidentally bears weight on it and he falls back with a pained shout.

“Shiro!” Allura’s voice rings in his ear, but not from the comms, he realises; she’s jet-packing over the crumbled remains of the wall Shiro hit.

“Keith - get Keith!” he shouts. “I couldn’t lift -”

And then the dust starts clearing, and Shiro sees Lotor start forward over the rubble as Allura’s arm goes around Shiro’s ribs. They both watch, almost frozen, as Lotor grasps the beam Shiro couldn’t move, and steadily lifts it up and away from the ground.

Pidge and Matt arrive with high powered torches just as Lotor’s shifting the second beam, and the light falls across Keith on the ground, curled on his side and covered in dust. In the poor light, Shiro can see his suit’s torn around one shoulder. Nausea drives hot in Shiro’s stomach - he’s only just realising how little armour the Blades’ suits have, compared to the paladins’.

Lotor immediately lifts Keith to his feet with a hand under each armpit, unbearably tender; but despite his trembling legs, Keith shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he gasps, and he squints around the room; his gaze falls on Shiro, still slumped on the floor against Allura. Keith stumbles towards him, bending to help pull him to his feet. “Shiro, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Shiro winces; he has to lean most of his weight on Allura. He’s shaking - he’s endured worse pain than this before, had the front of his face split open in the gladiator arena and will bear the scar for the rest of his life, but it’s been a while since he got hurt like this and it’s come as something of a shock. It’s also been a long time since one of his team was in such danger and he hasn’t missed the fear that comes with it.

“Thanks,” Shiro pants. “You - you saved me.”

Something flashes across Matt’s face in the gloom, but Keith’s staring down at Shiro’s ankle.

“We should get that seen to,” Keith says.

“You need medical attention too,” Lotor says quietly, and he’s right - Keith’s face and shoulder are bleeding and he’s clutching at his ribs. “I can carry you back to the Lions -”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Keith stresses. “I -”

“Hunk’s on his way,” Matt cuts across him, one finger pressed to the comms in his helmet. “He can help get Shiro back to the Lions. Let’s move - the sooner we get off this planet the better.”

He and Allura get a shoulder each underneath Shiro’s arms, and help him out of the ruins of the building. His ankle throbs dully and he winces against the wind that’s picked up outside. Hunk and Lance come running towards them.

“Everyone okay?” Lance asks, reaching for Allura.

“Shiro’s not,” Keith says. “He -”

“Come on,” Matt grabs at Keith’s uninjured shoulder, hauling one of his arms around his neck. “I need to talk to you.”

He half drags Keith away, back towards the Lions - Shiro can tell he’s angry, though he’s not quite sure why. He knows Matt and Keith are close; if anything, he should be angry with Shiro for getting Keith injured.

Back at the ships, Pidge fills Lance and Hunk in on what happened as they temporarily strap up Shiro’s ankle, and Matt sees to Keith.

“He just picked up these beams, easy as anything - they had to weigh a freaking tonne. It was like something out of a movie.”

“Damn,” Lance comments. “Told you he was strong. Not as strong as Allura, though.”

“I guess that’s step two complete, then,” Hunk says. 

The others laugh; Shiro closes his eyes - Lotor’s helping Matt dab some sort of ointment over Keith’s ribs now, through the tears in his suit, and Shiro’s not above admitting he’s feeling an awful sort of jealousy mixed nauseatingly with the panic that’s still lingering from the moment Keith disappeared from view. He tries to concentrate on pushing the panic back into the recesses of his mind. He feels Black take some of it from him, and he sighs shakily, willing his frantic heart to slow.

\--

Kolivan and Coran order Shiro and Keith to spend twelve hours each in healing pods, though Keith is gone by the time Shiro emerges from his, tentatively bearing weight on his newly fixed ankle.

“Off on a Blades mission, with Acxa,” Matt tells him tersely. “Kolivan wasn’t too eager, but they’re spread thin at the moment. Quite a few Blades AWOL, from what I’ve heard.”

“Should we be concerned?” Shiro asks, as Matt hands him a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants. He shrugs a shoulder.

“It’s not entirely unusual. Could just be something blocking the communications. Think they’re keeping Keith fairly close to the Atlas, anyway.”

The room is full of refugees also emerging refreshed from pods; Shiro allows Matt to guide him away from the infirmary towards one of the briefing rooms. He’s still feeling a little too shaky after twelve hours in a cryopod for a long meeting with Iverson, but he supposes it’ll stop his mind from replaying on loop the image of Lotor rescuing Keith.

He remembers, then, Matt all but dragging Keith off to the Lions despite his injuries, claiming they needed to talk.

“You were angry,” Shiro says, voice slow. They’ve paused outside the briefing room, and he turns to see Matt’s brow furrow. “When he got hurt. Were you - I thought you might be angry with me. For putting him in danger.”

Matt’s jaw sets, letting out a sigh as he understands.

“Nah, man. That wasn’t your fault.” He cross his arms across his chest, and lets out another long sigh. He looks tired, Shiro thinks. “Keith - he’s got a habit of … you know. Throwing himself into danger. To save people.”

“Oh,” Shiro blinks - he almost wants to ask _is that a bad thing_ , but Matt gives a short laugh, immediately reading him.

“Yeah, sounds like someone else I know,” he smirks. “But - I don’t know, I try to remember he’s been with the Blades since he was a kid. But he’s so unlike them, sometimes; he’s so impulsive, and he’s got this little heroic streak I know Kolivan’s been trying to work with him on.”

“So he’s done stuff like that before,” Shiro says. “Like - when he pushed me out of the way.”

“Oh yeah,” Matt sighs. They both nod at Iverson and the MFEs as they file past them into the briefing room. “I wasn’t sure if you guys ever knew about the little stunt he pulled at Naxzela.”

Shiro shakes his head, feeling his brow furrow. Matt chews at his lip.

“He - he was gonna break the barrier. With his ship.” He shakes his head; Shiro feels a cold sort of horror wash over him. “And then Lotor managed to break the barrier. Luckily. Kolivan was furious when he found out, he benched Keith for like a month. Which went down about as well as you can expect.”

“You’re well informed,” Shiro tells him. They head into the briefing room now, taking seats beside one another.

Matt gives him half a smile, scratching at the scar on his face.

“What can I say. You tend to grow kinda close to someone when you realise you’re not the only human in a gang of aliens.”

\--

Tales of Lotor’s heroics spread throughout the Atlas over the next week, and inevitably start to become grossly exaggerated - Shiro has to hide his snort behind his clipboard when he hears Rizavi telling Kinkade and Leifsdottir that she’d heard Lotor had lifted an entire wall off of Keith, though he supposes she’s not that far off in her estimates.

Hunk and Lance continue to poke very gentle fun at Shiro, asking him if he’s jealous of the attention Lotor’s garnering, and if he’s embarrassed he wasn’t able to rescue Keith himself, but truthfully he’s not - whilst he wishes he hadn’t been rendered so useless, he’s just grateful Lotor was able to help. He also can’t help but feel this good attention on Lotor is encouraging, for the coalition, many of whom are still somewhat mistrustful of Lotor, as well as his generals and the Blades, and only partly because of their Galra heritage. The news of Lotor’s heroics can only bolster acceptance from the rest of the coalition.

Shiro’s healed fine, but the panic he’d felt the moment Keith had disappeared from view was familiar and unwelcome, and it takes longer to forget the feeling each time he’s reminded of it. He supposes he’s gotten a little too used to the reducing danger in the wake of Honerva’s defeat, a little too comfortable with his team being relatively safe the majority of the time. It’s been some time since the war, he realises.

The rest of the Atlas realises this too - a celebration is planned for the year anniversary of the war’s end, which Hunk and Romelle throw themselves excitedly into planning. Allura pulls out her best diplomacy dress and lets her hair down, literally and metaphorically, and everyone else is quick to join in the festivities.

Colleen persuades Shiro to wear the uniform the Garrison provided solely for the paladins, and he still feels mildly uncomfortable in it - it really has been a long time since he wore a uniform every day. When they first gave him the black and white jacket, tailored for his arm, he put off wearing it for a long time, despite seeing the other paladins wearing theirs; it didn’t feel like who he was anymore. He’s not an officer anymore, but he realises now, a year after the war, that it’s a good thing.

Keith’s in his Blades suit, of course, and Shiro can’t help but find him in the dining hall when he joins the party. Keith’s gaze meets his, and he and Acxa head across the room towards him. It looks like he’s holding himself a little stiffly, and Shiro wonders if he’s still injured.

“How’s your ankle?” Keith asks, in lieu of any greeting. 

His tone is as serious as always, and Shiro can’t help but compare him and Acxa to the rest of the party, which is fairly lively (due in no small part, he’s sure, to Romelle and Hunk teaming up with Rizavi on planning and executing). It makes Shiro a little sad, that Keith and Acxa are so young, like the others, and yet so serious, but he finds a warmth of a familiarity there, too; Adam always used to say he was the same.

“It’s good,” Shiro tells him. “Would have been a lot worse, if it wasn’t for you.”

“We both got lucky,” Keith nods. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

“I’m glad you are, too,” Shiro smiles. He sees a smirk flicker across Acxa’s mouth.

Shiro takes a sip of his drink, and realises their hands are empty.

“You guys not joining in?” he asks; he nods towards the drinks table, where Romelle and Lance appear to be taking a somewhat liberal stance on how much alcohol to add to the punch. “You guys don’t have a mission tomorrow, do you?”

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “I guess - this isn’t really our scene. I’m not sure we fit in here.”

Shiro can’t help but notice how stiff Kolivan looks, standing talking to Coran across the room, though he’s holding a drink in his hand and someone seems to have draped a rainbow coloured streamer over his shoulders.

“Well,” Shiro tells them. “I’m sure that’s not the case. Come on, you guys deserve some fun. Let your hair down a little.”

They both blink at him, and he wonders not for the first time if human idioms really translate that well off of Earth.

“He means go enjoy yourselves,” a new voice says. Shiro turns to find Thace beside him, raising an eyebrow down at Keith and Acxa. “I’m sure you’re both capable. Go on - go be friendly. We’re guests here, after all.”

They both make an expression like it pains them to consider it, but they both turn with a nod and head towards the drinks table. Romelle greets them both excitedly, mixing them a drink each, and Hunk and Pidge and Allura soon join them. It’s not long before Keith and Acxa are both shielded from view, swept up in conversation with the others.

“Both need a little push, don’t they?” he glances at Thace. His mouth twitches with a grin.

“Yes,” he says. “But it’s good for them. The Blades are far too serious for them to spend all their time with.”

“Right. They’re young,” Shiro nods.

Thace fixes him with a long look, sipping at his drink.

“As are you,” he says. “As much as you might forget it.”

Shiro flashes a short smile back at him, taking a long sip of his own drink.

They watch the party before them for a few silent moments - someone’s turned on music and Rizavi has convinced Allura and Pidge to dance with her, whilst Lance seems to be refereeing a drinking game with Keith and the others across the room. Everyone else seems to be drinking and chatting, looking relaxed and happy. Though, he can’t see Lotor anywhere - Shiro wonders where he is.

Thace turns to face him properly.

“I believe we owe you our thanks, for what happened on your recent mission,” he says. “ _We_ being the Blades.”

Shiro swallows his sigh.

“You have Lotor to thank, actually. It’s because of him that Keith’s safe.”

“It would be wrong of me to assume you had nothing to do with his rescue,” Thace says. The look he gives Shiro is kind, but serious. “You’re a great leader, Shiro. You look out for your team. We respect that.”

“ _We_ being the Blades again?” Shiro asks. He drags his thumb across the ridged surface of the glass in his hand; Kolivan has told him, before, that he places too much focus on his team, rather than the mission. It’s the only thing they’ve disagreed over, before.

Thace nods.

“We are all indebted to you, and Lotor, for Keith’s safe return.”

He looks out across the party again, gaze drifting over where Lance’s drinking game still appears to be going strong and have gained more numbers. Hunk’s got an arm slung around Keith’s shoulders, and whilst Keith’s expression looks mildly uncomfortable, he’s smiling, a little, drinking obediently. 

Shiro catches Thace smiling a little himself, and can’t help but think of what Matt said that first time they were introduced to Keith, without the mask. _No one outside the Blades knows which of them is Keith’s parent_. Thace’s expression watching Keith now is so fond - and the way he thanked Shiro for Keith’s rescue … Shiro wonders, for a moment. It’s not as though Thace is acting any differently towards Keith than the rest of the Blades; Shiro’s seen how Krolia and Kolivan both behave with him. But Shiro can’t help but speculate.

“Anyway,” Thace says then, his attention back on Shiro, and he raises a hand to clasp Shiro’s shoulder. “What I said before still applies to you, Shiro. You should also go enjoy yourself.”

Shiro feels his mouth flicker with a smile.

“You think I’ll fit in?”

Thace snorts quietly.

“You’re barely older than them,” he says. The look he gives Shiro is a little sad; Shiro’s used to it. He comes across that look whenever someone suddenly sees past the white hair and scars and realises he’s barely twenty-seven. He knows he’s young, for what he’s been through. “Go make the most of it.”

He squeezes Shiro’s shoulder again, and heads over to Kolivan and Coran. Shiro watches him go, before grinning to himself, and following his orders.

He winds up at a table with Griffin and Kinkade, a couple pitchers of beer between them as they chat about ships. They want to know all about the missions Shiro went on, before Kerberos, and everything after as well, and they’re so clearly still wrapped up in their hero worship, so enthusiastic, that it’s easy for Shiro to keep talking. He tells them about the speeds and maneuvers he broke records with years ago now, and they tell him all about being selected for the MFEs and hours pass before Shiro realises it. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom when Rizavi tries to rope them into Lance’s drinking game - amazingly still going strong, and Shiro can see many victims with their heads pillowed on the table looking a little green.

When he stands, he realises he’s a little drunk himself. Not like he used to get, when he was young with Adam and his friends, and he was trying to enjoy himself and ignore the stimulator bracelets around his wrists, but certainly a little fuzzy around the edges, the back of his neck damp and his cheeks aching from grinning. He expects the scar across his nose is standing out white against his flushed face. The room is hot and loud, the party still bright and lively, and he’s grateful to escape it to get what fresh air he can elsewhere on the Atlas.

On his way back from the bathroom, a few corridors away from the dining room, Shiro comes across a surprising sight.

“Keith?” he asks, frowning.

Keith’s half slumped against a wall, a hand holding himself upright, though it looks like it could slip at any moment. His head’s bowed and his hair’s a mess; when he looks up at Shiro his eyes are glassy, his cheeks flushed and his forehead damp with sweat. Shiro can smell the alcohol on him.

“Sorry,” Keith gets out. “I - I’m not used to it. I was stupid.”

It clicks; this is probably the first time Keith’s been drunk.

“You’re okay,” Shiro says, hand hovering over Keith’s head, then his back - he doesn’t touch him, though. “I’ll get you some water.”

“I don’t feel good,” Keith mutters. His eyes are closed, now, and Shiro thinks back to the first time he got drunk - past the thrill of it, when he was back in his room at the Garrison and the world wouldn’t stop spinning. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep it off.

“Do you want to lie down somewhere? It’ll help,” Shiro tells him. His hand hovers again, over the back of Keith’s damp looking neck, but he still doesn’t feel like he should touch Keith. Like he _can_.

Keith nods. 

“I might - I might be sick,” he says, and his frown pulls his brow tight.

“Do you have a room here? On the Atlas? I can take you there, get you settled,” Shiro says. He doesn’t want to leave Keith to get him there by himself - he looks like he can barely walk.

“No,” Keith shakes his head. “We - we were meant to go back to the base tonight. I …”

He lurches, hand sliding down the wall. Instinctively, Shiro throws an arm around him, easing him upright - he knows Kolivan would have a fit if he saw them right now, like this, knows the paladins would tease him endlessly, but Shiro really just wants to stick his middle finger up at decorum right now. All he cares about is getting Keith out of this corridor, to a bathroom and then to a bed to sleep it off.

“Come on,” he tells Keith. He pulls him gently against him so he can help him walk; he’s warm through his Blades suit, and feels small against Shiro. “I’ll take you to my room. You can wash up and sleep it off there, I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight.”

“That’s not fair,” Keith mumbles, but he goes easily, letting Shiro guide him down the silent corridor. “Can’t … I can’t … kick you out.”

Shiro gives a quiet laugh.

“It’s fine. You won’t feel better after you’ve slept, but it’ll help a little, at least.”

Keith’s quiet for a moment, letting Shiro walk him further away from the party, towards his room. His head tips against Shiro, right into his armpit.

“Stupid of me,” he murmurs. Shiro lets himself give Keith’s shoulder a brief squeeze.

“We all do stupid stuff, sometimes. I’ve gotten far more drunk in way worse situations,” he tells him. He hears Keith give a weak little laugh.

It’s something of a job to get his door open whilst mostly holding Keith upright, but he manages to walk Keith over to the threshold, and into the bathroom just in time for Keith to drop to his knees and vomit into the toilet. Shiro laughs sympathetically, grabbing a glass from his room to fill up in the sink.

“Get it all out buddy,” he tells Keith, crouching beside him with the water glass and tissues. “It’ll help, I promise.”

Keith’s sick for a while, and Shiro has to reach and hold his bangs back from his face; they’re warm and damp with sweat. Keith gives a pitiful groan when his stomach’s seemingly empty, resting his forehead against the lid of the toilet. He looks young and skinny, hunched sick over the toilet, and Shiro feels a sharp pang of sorrow, thinking of the first time he was drunk like this. How different the circumstances were, how little he’d gone through in his life by that point. His only concerns were not getting caught by the Garrison and hoping he hadn’t embarrassed himself too much in front of Adam - he hadn’t fought a war by the time he was out of his teens. Not like Keith.

Keith finally draws back from the toilet bowl, face pale and sweaty; his hands are trembling when he takes the glass of water from Shiro.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “Sorry - this is gross.”

“We’ve all been there,” Shiro smiles.

Keith sits back to lean against the tiled wall, slowly pulling his knees to his chest. He sips at the water and presses his forehead into his knees, arms shaking. He looks more vulnerable now, sick on the floor of Shiro’s bathroom, than he did curled up injured under the beams Shiro couldn’t lift off of him.

Keith gives another sad groan, and Shiro reaches forward to brush his hair from his eyes, wiping at his cooling sweat with the tissues. He lays his prosthetic hand on Keith’s hot forehead, and Keith gives a little shiver.

“That feels good,” he sighs. Shiro shifts a little closer on his knees, shifting the cool metal over Keith’s feverish skin, until he’s stopped trembling so much.

“You wanna lie down?” Shiro asks. “Sleeping will help, a little.”

Keith nods weakly, and lets Shiro help him slowly to his feet. He grimaces when Shiro reaches to flush the toilet.

“Sorry,” he repeats. “I’m - such a mess. Never been like this, before.”

“I told you - we’ve all been there,” Shiro chuckles. “Here - brush your teeth and wash up, and then you can sleep.”

He breaks open a fresh toothbrush for him, and leaves Keith slumped against the sink brushing his teeth whilst he heads back into the bedroom. His sheets were fresh on yesterday - he’s sure there’s no harm in Keith sleeping in them. He leaves some painkillers on the nightstand and pulls the duvet back, and by the time he’s turned off main lights and turned the bedside lamp on, Keith’s stumbling out of the bathroom, wiping blearily at his face.

“You want some pyjamas?” Shiro asks, gesturing towards his dresser, but Keith shakes his head. He heads straight for the bed and climbs under the duvet, still in his suit. Shiro gives a snort - he’ll regret that in the morning - and helps him pull the duvet up.

“This is for if you wake up and need to hurl,” he says, showing Keith the trash can he places beside the bed. “And I’ll get you some more water.”

He refills the glass in the bathroom, and when he comes back to place it on the nightstand with the painkillers, Keith’s eyes are still half open.

“Sorry,” he croaks again. “I feel - so dumb.”

“It’s okay,” Shiro repeats. He gives into his instincts, just for a moment, and lowers himself onto the edge of the bed.

“I feel like an idiot,” Keith mumbles. He closes his eyes, facing shifting uncomfortably; Shiro follows another instinct and reaches forward to brush Keith’s bangs from his face. His forehead’s cooler, now - less feverish. His hair is splayed dark on the pillow around his head.

“Why?” Shiro asks him softly.

Keith lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes.

“Embarrassed myself … in front of you.”

“It’s fine,” Shiro smiles to himself. He guesses his and Keith’s experiences with drinking aren’t as different as he’d thought. “You haven’t, really. I don’t mind.”

“No?” Keith hums. Shiro realises the fingers of his prosthetic are still smoothing Keith’s bangs away from his forehead.

“Nah,” Shiro says. “It’s - nice. Spending time with you, when it’s not a mission. Not for work.”

Keith exhales heavily, making a small sound of discomfort. Shiro carefully pats his head, and pushes himself up from the edge of the bed.

“Just stay in here, okay? Use whatever you need in the morning when you wake up.”

Keith doesn’t answer; his breathing has evened out. He’s probably half asleep already. Shiro gives another smile, and turns off the lamp. In the gloom, all he can see is the pale skin of Keith’s arm over the duvet, his hand open on the pillow. The room is silent except for his slow breathing, and Shiro quietly leaves.

Once out in the corridor he hesitates, wondering if he should use the keypad to lock the door; he doesn’t exactly want to lock Keith in his room whilst drunk - he can only imagine how people would react to hearing that - but on the other hand, something curls dark in his stomach at the thought of leaving him vulnerable in a room where anyone could walk in. He doesn’t even know who on the Atlas right now he’s thinking could be any kind of threat in that way, but his instincts are flaring again and it’s hard to fight that protective urge.

In the end, he leaves the door unlocked, figuring Keith wouldn’t like waking up to find himself locked in a room he doesn’t know. Shiro forces himself to trust everyone onboard the ship, and heads back to the party.

He’s barely walked down two corridors before he runs into Krolia, Kosmo at her side and her face tight with concern.

“Shiro,” she says. “Have you seen Keith? I haven’t seen him in a long while.”

Shiro tries to make his expression as reassuring as possible.

“He had a bit too much to drink,” he tells her. “He’s sleeping it off in my room. I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight,” he adds, not quite able to keep that middle finger held up at decorum when Krolia looks this concerned, but she barely registers it.

“Is he okay? Is he ill?”

“No worse than you’d expect from having a few too many drinks,” Shiro says. “I’m guessing I’m right in assuming he’s not got much experience in this area?”

“No,” she shakes her head. Her face is clearing a little. “You’re right there.”

“He’s okay. He’ll regret it in the morning, but. Sleep is the best thing for him right now.”

Krolia nods. Kosmo noses at her hand, dangling at her side, and Shiro has no doubt he’s sensing the anxiety still rolling off of her in waves.

“He’s in your room, you said?”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods. “Do you … you wanna check on him?”

“If that’s okay,” she gives him a grateful smile. “If he’s ill - I’d rather be with him. I should take care of him.”

Shiro gives her his room number, and she clasps his shoulder in thanks before she and Kosmo disappear down the corridor. Shiro finds himself wondering the same as he did with Thace, given how tense Krolia seems - can’t help but speculate, just if ...

The party goes on for a few more hours, and Shiro’s contemplating where exactly he’s going to sleep when Lotor finally arrives, meeting him at the drinks table as Shiro’s grabbing a bottle of water.

“You’re fashionably late,” Shiro greets him.

“Diplomacy visit,” Lotor explains. He reaches for the only bottle of wine on the table that isn’t empty, and pours the dregs into a glass. “Allura and I have agreed to rotate, to share the load.”

“Does that mean she’ll have to miss out on the next party, then?”

Lotor quirks an eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” he says. He’s glancing around the room - half empty, now, the party on its way to winding down - and sips at his wine. “I see I’ve missed most of the excitement.”

“I suppose it was a little lively,” Shiro nods. He can’t help but notice how Lotor’s still scanning the room, and can’t stop himself from asking the obvious. “Are you … looking for Keith?”

Lotor glances at him, smiling.

“I’m not particularly subtle, I take it.”

Shiro laughs.

“I’m afraid not. I think everyone would agree with me, as well. We’re all aware you’re following the …” he gestures vaguely, opening his water bottle. “You know. The steps.”

“Steps?” Lotor asks.

Shiro takes a long gulp of water, working himself up to it. Wow, Lotor is really gonna make him say it.

“The … courtship,” Shiro manages. He has to cough to clear the tightness in his throat. “You, uh. You want to court him. Keith. Right?”

Lotor chuckles softly into his wine; his gaze is across the room, now, lingering on where Lance is quite possibly the last man standing in his drinking game. Hunk and Romelle have their heads on the table, and Allura’s is resting on Lance’s shoulder. She’s asleep, and Lance is absently stroking her hair whilst still barking out rules to the others.

“That’s correct,” Lotor says. He turns to fix Shiro a long look. “But - I’m not the only one, right?”

For a moment, Shiro genuinely believes Lotor is referring to someone else - someone other than him. And then he has to chide himself for being naive, for really believing someone as shrewd as Lotor - infamous for his abilities to observe and scheme - wouldn’t have picked up on the fact that yes, Shiro does, perhaps, find Keith attractive. Is interested in spending more time with him, on a non-platonic basis.

Still, he can only dumbly reply, “Me?”

Lotor smirks, draining his wine. When he grins, his teeth are stained blood red.

“Yes, Shiro,” he says. “You. You’re none too subtle either, you know.”

“I guess not,” Shiro murmurs. His face feels unnaturally hot.

“I mean - I’m not surprised. You two are very alike.”

“You think so?” Shiro works extremely hard to keep his voice level, to suppress the hopeful tone.

“Yes,” Lotor nods. Another grin is unfurling slowly across his face. “Both very determined - stubborn, when it means doing the right thing. You both have something of a flair for the heroics.”

“I think you proved you do too,” Shiro points out - it comes up out of his throat hot and fast, unpleasantly. “On that last mission.”

Lotor pauses for a moment, surveying Shiro, then lets out a harsh little chuckle.

“I suppose you’re correct, there,” he concedes. He slides his empty wine glass onto the table beside them, and then reaches a hand out to place on Shiro’s shoulder. “Well, then - Lance taught me a phrase you Earthlings say in these situations, a while back. _May the best man win_.”

His hand feels uncomfortably tight on Shiro’s shoulder, and something hot and uncomfortable twists in Shiro’s gut. 

“Keith isn’t something to win,” he says, voice tight. “This isn’t a competition.”

Something flickers in Lotor’s eyes, and he slowly lowers his hand from Shiro’s shoulder. He pauses again for a long, observing moment, before he replies.

“Indeed,” he says, voice carefully even. He nods curtly at Shiro. “Well, then - goodnight. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other the next few days.”

He turns and leaves, and Shiro’s surprisingly glad to see him go.

Another thing Shiro realises he’s glad about, an hour or so later when he’s helping Colleen and Romelle clear up the dining room, half asleep on his feet, is that Lotor didn’t ask him where Keith was. Shiro’s not sure he could have trusted himself not to tell Lotor he’d already left for the base - he’s not sure he would have been able to bring himself to be honest.

He can’t help but feel, as he lets himself into Lance’s room (who had happily given up his bed in favour of sharing Allura’s) and starts stripping for bed, that perhaps Lotor doesn’t bring out the best in him. Not where Keith is concerned, at least.

\--

Shiro gets a handful of hours’ sleep in Lance’s bed, and gets up around what constitutes for seven in the morning on the space clock. He stopped drinking early enough in the night to avoid a full blown hangover, but he’s burgeoning on one. He dresses and drags himself to the kitchens, his temples aching and his vision spotty, the Atlas corridors empty and silent.

The kitchen is not empty and silent, though; Hunk is frying something at the stove, looking remarkably perky the morning after a party.

“Oh, hey Shiro,” he grins, waving over his shoulder as the pan he’s stirring on the stove spits and sizzles. The air smells like bacon and sausages, but Shiro knows better than to be fooled into thinking Hunk’s cooking Earth food. “Wanna join Shay and I for a slap-up breakfast?”

Shiro gives him a tight grin, nausea roiling in his gut.

“No, thanks,” he shakes his head. He gestures weakly at the coffee machine. “I’ll just have this …”

“Ah, hangovers,” Hunk laughs. “You know, they say they only get worse the older you get …”

“I’m not _that_ much older than you, cadet,” Shiro raises an eyebrow.

Hunk just laughs merrily again, cracking some definitely alien eggs into another pan.

“Good night though? You disappeared for a while.”

“Yeah,” Shiro hums. He pours himself a coffee - real coffee he insisted they bring from Earth - and drains nearly all of it in under twenty seconds. He hears Hunk snort when he refills his mug, and then fills a second mug. “Good to see everyone cut loose, for a bit.”

“Oh sure,” Hunk nods. “I mean, even Kolivan had a few drinks. And Keith, and Lance’s drinking game - well, that was fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. It’s just -” Hunk grins, shrugging a shoulder. “He’s not that different from us, you know? Not really. Why shouldn’t he just hang out and have some fun, like we do?”

Shiro smiles into his coffee.

“Exactly.”

“Allura thinks it’s good for him,” Hunk continues, still gazing into his sizzling pan. “She keeps saying how different it must have been for him, growing up with the Blades, and that he needs to spend time with us, because we’re around his age … my GAC’s on Thace, by the way.”

“Sorry?” Shiro blinks. He’s halfway to the door with both coffees.

“For being Keith’s parent,” Hunk tells him over his shoulder. “He kept prodding him into making conversation with us, and making fun of him - no way he’s not his dad.”

Shiro snorts.

“I take it bets are being placed with Lance?” he asks.

“You got it,” Hunk says. “Anyway - there’ll be leftovers if you want them!”

He waves a spatula at Shiro as he leaves, and Shiro can hear him murmuring to his food like he always does when he thinks no one can hear him.

Krolia’s just leaving Shiro’s room when he arrives, face tired and her hair rumpled.

“Good morning,” she gives him a small smile.

“How is he? Did he survive the night?”

She takes the coffee he hands her, and surprises him by drinking without even asking him what it is, without any reaction to the taste like the other aliens have done (Romelle has been banned from the coffee machine, for enjoying it a bit too frequently).

“He’ll live,” she smirks. “There was a bit more vomit, and lots of pathetic whining. I think he’s learned his lesson.”

“I’m glad he’s alright,” Shiro smiles.

Krolia cocks her head, smiling back.

“I should go find some breakfast,” she tells him. She nods towards the closed door, sipping at her coffee. “I’m sure he can handle visitors. It is your room after all.”

Shiro laughs. As she passes, Krolia clasps his shoulder.

“Thank you - for last night. For looking after him. That was very kind of you.”

“It was the least I could do,” Shiro tells her. “He saved me, you know.”

Krolia’s lips flicker, almost into a grin.

“I’m aware.” She nods, and leaves him by the door. “I’ll be back later. Don’t use loud voices around him.”

Shiro chuckles, watching her go. He pauses, before opening the door; he wonders if he should knock, if he should leave Keith to sleep. Shiro’s probably the last person Keith wants to see right now, but there’s something fretful inside of him that’s urging him to go check on him.

He pushes himself to knock, and lets himself into the room. It’s dark, and whilst it smells better than he expected there’s still a stale smell of alcohol in the air. Kosmo’s curled up at the foot of the bed - taking up the entire end of it, he’s grown so much now - and he opens an eye sleepily when Shiro passes. Shiro pats his head, and Kosmo gives his wrist a lazy lick before going back to sleep.

Keith’s on his back, head turned on the pillow towards the wall. His hand’s on the pillow again, like it was last night, his palm open; Shiro wants to wrap his fingers around it. Krolia’s gotten Keith out of his Blades suit, and the duvet is slipping down over his collar bones. His hair’s a mess, bangs looking matted with sweat.

He doesn’t stir when Shiro takes his seat from the night before, on the edge of the mattress.

“Keith,” he murmurs. He reaches for Keith’s shoulder, warm under the duvet, and shakes it gently. It feels small and bony under his palm.

Keith gives a low groan, wincing as he opens his eyes with seemingly great difficulty.

“Is it morning?”

“What passes for morning in space,” Shiro says. “Think you can sit up?”

Keith looks like he’s contemplating it, and then gives the most minute shake of his head. It’s so quiet in the room, barring Kosmo’s slow breaths, that Shiro can hear Keith’s hair shifting on the pillow.

“Nah,” he murmurs. “Think I need to stay horizontal for a while.”

“I’ll keep this coffee for myself, then,” Shiro hums, taking a long gulp, and Keith laughs quietly.

The painkillers Shiro left him are still on the nightstand - when Shiro reaches for them, Keith shakes his head.

“I’ve already had some,” he says, accepting the bottle of water Shiro passes him instead. “Krolia woke me up for some, said I’d regret it if I didn’t. She woke me up like every two hours - think she was worried I’d slip into some alcohol induced coma.”

Shiro smiles.

“You’re lucky she’s looking out for you.”

Keith gives him a small, slow smile, one Shiro almost misses in the gloom.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

Shiro watches him drain the water bottle, and takes it from him - Keith watches him place it back on the nightstand alongside his empty coffee mug with heavy lidded eyes. It’s so quiet in his room; Shiro can hear his heart thudding in his ears, can hear Keith’s slow, easy breathing. God, Keith’s in his bed - Keith’s hair is all over his pillow, he’s half naked in Shiro’s sheets and as hesitant as he is to actually do or say anything about it, there’s no hiding from the fact that Shiro likes that Keith is in his bed, likes it very, very much.

“How are you feeling?” he forces himself to ask.

“Like an idiot,” Keith gives a tired smirk. He’s pulled an arm over his eyes, and Shiro stares at his pale, knobbly wrist, the toned, slender line of his arm. “Like I embarrassed you and myself.”

“You didn’t - I told you, I didn’t mind,” Shiro shakes his head, and god - he really just wants to wrap his fingers around that wrist, pull Keith’s arm away from his face so he can see his eyes in the gloom. He wants to, so much. But Shiro’s not been in the habit of letting himself do or have the things he wants in a long, long time.

“You do this a lot, then? Look after drunk messes after their first beers?”

“Not as much as I used to,” Shiro says, trying to keep his tone light, though sometimes thinking about the Garrison, before Kerberos, makes the back of his throat prick hotly. “And it used to be me that was the drunken mess, more often than not.”

“I think everyone on this ship would be surprised to hear that,” Keith laughs quietly. “I don’t think I am, though.”

They’re both quiet, and Keith’s arm stays slung across his face, and Shiro would almost think he’d gone to sleep again if not for the fact that he can see Keith’s toes wiggling under the duvet, gently prodding at Kosmo’s side. Kosmo makes a low noise, shifting against the movement, ears flicking back.

He sees Keith smile, picks it out easy in the gloom, and Shiro just feels so painfully known, right there, in the dark in his bed with a pretty boy and a space wolf, that his chest feels flayed open with it, his stomach hollowed. It’s like when Keith was in the Black Lion with him, and knew he was Japanese - it’s been so long, since someone understood just who he was, and where he’s come from. It makes him ache so much that he just wants, desperately, to do something - anything.

“I need to find something,” he murmurs, and pushes himself up from the bed. Keith doesn’t move whilst Shiro opens the drawers of his desk, squinting in the gloom at the contents. He unearths what he’s searching for, gives it a long, hard look in the palm of his hand, and goes back to sit on the edge of the bed again.

“Keith,” he says, and this time he does it - he reaches for Keith’s arm and slowly draws it away from his face, and pulls his hand towards him. He places the block of glass he’s holding in Keith’s palm. “I want - this is for you.”

Keith blinks sleepily, slowly pulling his hand up to his face so he can inspect the contents. He has to shake his head to shift his bangs from his eyes.

“It’s a rock, from Mount Fuji,” Shiro tells him. “It’s a volcano in Japan. They practically hand these glass set chunks of rock out to tourists, and I got it when I visited as a teenager. I, uh. I want you to have it.”

Keith doesn’t look away from glass block in his palm, slowly tracing a finger over the symbols spelling out _Fuji-san_.

“This is … from Japan?”

He looks up at Shiro, still looking sleepy. Shiro nods.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

He notices then that Kosmo’s awake, watching them curiously. When he shifts closer to poke his nose at the glass block, Keith absently strokes at his fur with his free hand. He keeps blinking, looking a little … startled.

“Shiro,” he says, voice thready. “Is this … does this mean, what I - what I think it means?”

Any sort of reply sticks in Shiro’s throat - he already feels like he’s said and done too much, that he shouldn’t push for more and yet, Keith is so clearly waiting for an answer, eyes wide in the gloom. Shiro’s chest swells but he presses his lips together in a tight line, exhaling shakily through his nose.

“You should probably go get some breakfast,” he says, and he pushes himself up from the bed. “You can have a shower, if you want - let me find you a towel.”

He busies himself with finding a clean towel in his dresser, his heart sinking at his own inaction, his own hesitancy.

“Shiro,” Keith says softly, and when Shiro turns he sees that Keith’s sat up, now. He’s holding the glass block in both hands, and his brow is furrowed with confusion. His eyes are wide, and look a little … sad, almost.

Shiro swallows.

“Here,” he forces a brisk smile, handing Keith the towel. “I’ll get it going for you.”

“It’s fine,” Keith shakes his head, sighing quietly as he pushes himself to his feet. Shiro forces himself not to look at his chest, the length of his legs stretching bare from his boxers. “I’ll shower back at the base. I should go find Krolia.”

He grabs at his Blades suit where it’s folded over the arm of the sofa, and he disappears into the bathroom to dress and brush his teeth. When he emerges, his hair is still a mess, and he looks pale and tired, mouth set a little sadly.

“Here,” Shiro says, giving in just an inch to the swelling still clutching his chest. “I know it’s stupid, but. Wearing this always seemed to help me when I was hungover.”

It’s a grey hoodie he got from the Garrison - he used to live in it, hood pulled up over his head, when he was feeling ill or hungover, like Keith is now. It’s pilling on the cuffs and has been washed a few too many times, the logo faded and cracked, but Keith’s mouth flickers with the ghost of a smile.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling it on. He has to bat the hood down from his hair. It looks a little strange on top of his Blades suit, but it’s nice. He looks - _cute_ , Shiro thinks to himself, thankful that the other paladins aren’t here because they’d tease him mercilessly, no doubt immediately able to read what’s going through his mind at the sight of Keith in his uniform, Shiro’s hoodie on top.

He watches Keith slide the glass block Shiro gave him into the front pocket of the hoodie, and smiles.

“Thanks, for last night,” Keith says. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Shiro says back. He’s aching to say more.

They stand there for a long moment, looking at each other in the gloom, both quiet. And then, with another small flicker of a smile, Keith puts his hand on Kosmo’s head, and with a faint _pop_ they’re gone, and Shiro’s bed is empty and unmade.

\--

“Hold still,” Pidge scolds, pinching Shiro’s ear until he yelps. “We’re trying to make _improvements_ , dummy.”

“You try holding your arm still for hours on end,” Shiro huffs. Ulaz smirks, prodding at one of Shiro’s metal fingers to test the responsiveness.

“Any special requests?” he asks. “Magic powers, or changes in reaction time?”

“How about my old flesh arm back?” Shiro mutters. Ulaz raises an eyebrow.

“Long gone, I’m afraid.”

“I still don’t see why you would even want that,” Pidge says, frowning as she taps something into her laptop. Shiro’s arm makes a noise, but he can’t feel anything. “It’s a _robotic arm_. What could possibly be more cool than that?”

She’s not looking away from her laptop screen, so she doesn’t catch the sad expression Shiro feels unfold across his face. He hopes Pidge never has a need to take off her blinkers that make her think robotics are better than science alone, but there’s still a slight pang at how she doesn’t quite understand. Matt isn’t any better, sometimes - and Shiro does appreciate the advanced science attached to his body, appreciates these sessions where Pidge and others dedicate hours to helping improve his use of the prosthetic, but he always seems to come away from them feeling glum, his entire right side aching for a limb that is, as Ulaz put it, long gone.

Ulaz throws a glance his way at Pidge’s words, though his expression is as hard to read as always. Shiro looks away.

Someone clears their throat, and when the three of them glance up Shiro’s pleasantly surprised to see Keith standing in the doorway. He’s got some kind of chew toy in his hand that Shiro suspects has been borrowed or stolen from Bae Bae; Kosmo’s got one end of it between his teeth and is gently tugging on it.

“Your father’s looking for you,” Keith tells Pidge. She sighs, pushing her chair away from her laptop. She stretches her arms above her head as she stands, then rubs a knuckle beneath one lense of her glasses.

“Can you finish up with the heat sensors? I have no idea how long this’ll take.”

Ulaz nods, and she leaves the room, quickly petting Kosmo on the head as she passes. He barely reacts, which Shiro supposes is a sign he isn’t bothered by her.

“Go on,” Keith sighs, throwing the toy into the air. Kosmo pounces on it, sending it bouncing across the room, and before long there’s an enormous space wolf rolling around on its back with a squeaky toy in its mouth, and Shiro has to try not to laugh at the sight.

Keith drops into a seat beside the station Shiro and Ulaz are set up at with a heavy, irritated sigh, without any greeting for either of them. He looks a lot less tired and vulnerable now he’s not hungover.

“And what’s bothering you?” Ulaz says, tapping something into Pidge’s laptop. One of Shiro’s fingers grows warm. “I thought Kolivan had you transporting supplies back to the base today.”

“That MFE pilot,” Keith huffs. “The arrogant one. And I flew fast.”

“You had another run in with him, I take it,” Ulaz smirks.

“I asked him where you guys were and he kept asking me why I wanted to know, all the while flipping his stupid hair around.”

“Griffin?” Shiro asks. He’s a little surprised; he’s seen the looks Griffin throws Keith’s way when he thinks no one’s looking, and he’s fairly certain he and Lotor aren’t the only ones with something of an interest in Keith.

“He was implying I had no business with you,” Keith scowls. “I just wanted to return this.”

He’s holding out Shiro’s Garrison hoodie, Shiro realises. He almost smiles at the memory Keith wearing it over his Blades suit, and shakes his head.

“Keep it,” he tells him. “You may need it again, if those parties continue.”

Ulaz snorts, and Keith glares at him.

“Those MFEs are a pain,” he tells him. “They think after a few years of school they’re better fliers than the rest of us, and it’s embarrassing how caught up they are in their hero worship of _him_ ,” he jerks his head in Shiro’s direction.

“They’re good kids,” Shiro says, unable to keep the fond tone out of his voice.

“And you can hardly talk,” Ulaz comments.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you want me to tell Shiro about how you insisted you would be a paladin when you grew up? How you challenged Antok to a fight when he told you that you were too short and too bad a flier to be a paladin?”

Shiro bursts out laughing, and the scandalised look on Keith’s face hardly helps matters.

“You tried to fight Antok? How old were you?”

“About nine Earth years, I believe,” Ulaz says, voice calm, gaze scanning the laptop screen. “It lasted about five ticks.”

“Antok’s an idiot,” Keith mutters. “I can outfly him in a heartbeat, now.”

“No one’s denying that,” Ulaz replies, voice still calm, though Shiro notices the hint of pride flickering in the set of his mouth. “Kolivan threw up the first time he got into a simulator with you.”

Keith’s communicator chirps, and Shiro watches him feel for it and listen, still frowning. His fingers have to search for it underneath his hair, and Shiro can’t help but remember how his hair felt beneath his fingers, only a week or so ago in his bedroom.

“Kolivan wants me to take Slav to the base,” Keith grimaces, pushing himself to his feet. “I should get going.”

“You have my sympathies,” Shiro chuckles.

“Feel free to fly as fast as you can,” Ulaz says. “He’s been driving everyone here insane recently. I wouldn’t mind him undergoing a little suffering.”

“I like my ship too much for that,” Keith snorts. He tries to pass the hoodie back to Shiro, again, but Shiro smiles.

“I told you, keep it,” he says. 

Keith gives him a long look, blinking owlishly, but he nods. He calls for Kosmo, who trots after him through the door with Bae Bae’s toy in his mouth, dripping with drool.

Ulaz is silent for a long period once Keith has left, and something has left Shiro not in the mood to talk either, so he sits and lets Ulaz make the updates he needs to his arm, the only sound in the room that of the keys of the laptop tapping away, and the occasional whirring from below his shoulder.

“They’re not wrong to look up to you,” Ulaz says, and it’s sudden in the silence but his voice is so quiet and calm it feels like he’s continuing a conversation that never stopped. “And Keith knows it.”

“Really,” Shiro murmurs.

“I’ve told you before - you give hope. You’re a worthy leader for them to look up to.”

Shiro looks away, feeling uncomfortable, skin prickling in a way that he knows is only partly because of the maintenance being performed on his arm.

“And yet Thace said I’m barely older than them.”

“You don’t have to be older than them to lead them,” Ulaz replies. “But it’s not like you to doubt your skill as a leader, Shiro.”

Shiro doesn’t respond, still looking away. He lets Ulaz test his grip around some tools, barely feeling the arm working with his brain. He feels tired, from hours of this testing, and there’s been a niggling ache in his side for most of the day that he’s unfamiliar with. It’s probably a pulled muscle, from somewhere, but Shiro’s sure he’s pulled every muscle in the book in his time in the arena and he doesn’t recognise this.

“You’ve known Keith a long time,” Shiro brings himself to say. It’s been dancing around his mind, since Ulaz brought up those stories to embarrass Keith, and despite his current, rather overwhelming glumness, he can’t deny he felt a spark of delight at hearing about Keith as a kid.

Ulaz nods. The way he continues the conversation is surprising.

“It is certainly a new experience for us, now that his heritage is more widely known,” he comments. “Now that he is grown up, and certain people have expressed an interest in him.”

“You mean Lotor?”

The ache in Shiro’s side throbs.

“Not just Lotor,” Ulaz replies after a moment, surveying Shiro for a long moment. Shiro doesn’t know what to make of it.

“I suppose it’s weird, for you,” he says. “All of you - seeing him suddenly grown up and being … you know. Courted.”

Ulaz starts unhooking some of the wires linking Shiro’s arm to the laptop.

“I will admit I did not take Keith for the kind to be swayed by gifts and ceremonies,” he says quietly.

“I can see why you’d think that,” Shiro nods. Keith’s like a wild animal compared to Lotor and his courtly rituals.

“But,” Ulaz continues, and the tips of his ears twitch a little. “That does not mean he does not deserve them.”

Shiro chews at his lip, feeling Ulaz’s scrutinizing gaze raking over him.

“In any case,” he says. “I hope whoever does decide to pursue him understands what they are taking on, and just what sort of a person he is. Kolivan has never thrown up in anyone else’s first sim run, after all.”

It should make Shiro laugh, but despite the wires being disconnected to free his arm, he feels a great weight settling on him like a shroud.

“I don’t know what I want,” he says quietly. Ulaz pauses, coiling a wire into a neat loop to be packed away.

“It’s not like you to be hesitant,” he says, and Shiro bites down on the urge to respond with _you don’t know me. Not really._

“It just - I don’t know how. Which I guess is stupid.” Without him meaning it to, his prosthetic hand curls into a fist on the station between them. “The war’s over.”

Ulaz fixes him with a long look, yellow eyes unblinking. Shiro still remembers looking up from a table surrounded by the druids, rigid with fear and pain, and seeing those yellow eyes, still remembers Ulaz freeing him and telling him how much hope he inspired like it hasn’t been over two years.

“You know as well as I do that things don’t just stop because of that,” Ulaz tells him now.

“The others - the other paladins. They don’t seem to have hesitated, to have let anything stop them from going after what they want, now the war’s over. They’ve got their families and loved ones, and … sometimes,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “Sometimes I wonder - if something were to ever happen to me. If I were to wake up in a hospital bed, who would be there looking back at me.”

“They haven’t had the same experiences as you,” Ulaz says, and his response is somewhat comforting in how swiftly it comes, in how there’s understanding in his expression. “You know you have a family here, Shiro.”

Shiro sighs, rubbing tiredly at his face. Sessions like these, working on his arm with constant improvements, tend to leave him feeling drained, his brain a little overwhelmed. He feels weak and tired, brow sweating.

Ulaz knows this, and clearly sees it now.

“You should rest,” he says, closing the laptop. “Do you need some help getting back to your quarters?”

Shiro shakes his head, but lets Ulaz help him up from his chair. He presses a hand to his side, against the dull ache. Ulaz notices, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Shiro,” he says, as Shiro’s leaving the room. Shiro glances over his shoulder at him. “There’s nothing wrong with taking the time to figure out what you want. But you shouldn’t ignore it.”

Shiro leaves feeling even more weak and overwhelmed, his own hesitation bitter in his throat.

\--

At another banquet held that evening, Lotor presents Keith with an Altean fruit that Coran tells the table signifies growth and maturing together. Keith looks a little surprised but thanks Lotor, letting Allura inspect the fruit with a delighted expression on her face.

As the table slips back into conversation, and the strange, yellow fruit is returned to the head of Keith’s place setting, Shiro presses his hand against the ache in his side as he catches sight of Krolia further down the table. She’s watching Keith carefully, as though she’s trying to gauge his expression, his reaction.

Shiro thinks, as he declines dessert, much to Hunk’s surprise and dismay, that she may have just as little luck as he himself is having at that.

\--

Shiro jabs at the buttons on the treadmill with a grunt, hand pressed to his side as the belt slows to a stop. He bends over, gritting his teeth through the ache - it’s grown into pain now, though, the kind that ripples through him every now and then and leaves him a little nauseous.

He’s been covering it up all day, and other than a few frowns from Allura during meetings (there was one spark of pain he couldn’t help but wince at), he seems to have been fairly successful at keeping it from everyone else. Talking helps distract him. He thought exercise might too - if it’s a cramped muscle then working it out would help …

He knows he shouldn’t ignore something like this, knows that this is the sort of thing the Atlas infirmary is for, but like it always seems to be these days, hesitation is wrapped firmly around him.

Going to the infirmary means there’s a problem, and he’s been doing so well … he’s been _healthy …_

Shiro sits down on a spare bench and reaches for the dumbbells. If he keeps his posture right, some bicep curls shouldn’t aggravate his side. He breathes deeply, pushes himself through a few sets, and is just wincing through another ripple of pain through his abdomen when he realises he’s no longer alone in the gym.

“Hey,” he gasps out, swallowing a mouthful of nausea induced spit and wiping his wrist over the probably-not-from-exercise sweat trickling down his temple.

“Hello, Shiro,” Allura calls cheerfully. Her gym clothes are bright pink, and she’s pulling on the big purple headphones Lance got her for her last name day ( _they’re like magic, Shiro,_ she’d gushed to him the first time she’d tried them, as they apparently didn’t have such a thing on Altea, _only I can hear the music, it’s really beautiful_ ). 

Shiro watches her cross the gym and lay out her yoga mat, and then he looks up to smile at Keith.

“Hey,” he repeats. 

He can’t help smiling - Keith’s got half his hair pulled into a bun at the back of his head, some threads of his bangs still falling around his face, and he’s wearing a distinctly human looking gym outfit of tight black leggings and a big faded t-shirt.

“That’s a new look for you,” Shiro nods towards the t-shirt as he gratefully puts down the dumbbell in his hand. Keith tugs at the t-shirt with a frown.

“Matt,” he says as way of explanation. “He said I _look like an idiot_ working out in my suit, and made me wear some of his clothes.”

Shiro laughs - now he’s looking properly, he can see that it’s an old Garrison t-shirt that probably hung as loose on Matt when he first owned it as it does now on Keith.

“I’m sure your suit has its advantages,” Shiro says, slowly pushing himself up from the bench. “But a little bit of change doesn’t hurt -”

He cuts himself off with a gasp; as soon as he’s upright a great jolt of pain sparks through his abdomen and he gasps, clutching at his side.

“Are you okay?” Keith frowns. He steps forward hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” Shiro chokes out, which is so clearly not true - he’s practically bent over double and he feels like he might actually be sick. Keith, luckily, doesn’t buy his bullshit.

“No you’re not,” he says sharply. “Shit, look at you.”

Shiro feels strong hands at his arms, guiding him to sit back down on the bench, and he realises then that he’s got his eyes screwed up, still wincing. He opens them gingerly, vision spotting a little, but it clears, and then he sees Keith looking down at him, brows knitted together in worry.

“Here,” he says, voice calm, and it’s such a contrast to the wild beat of blood in Shiro’s ears that it makes Shiro feel a little calmer in return. He’s passing Shiro his water bottle, and Shiro drinks from it gratefully.

“I’m fine, really,” Shiro says tightly, but Keith’s already shaking his head.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs.

Shiro closes his eyes, as though that’ll help work him up to say it. Because he hasn’t said it, hasn’t voiced it to anyone, not since he woke up in a clone of his body and realised what was different, and all that came with that change. That rebirth, of sorts.

At Shiro’s silence, Keith takes a seat beside him on the bench. The pain in Shiro’s side flickers, just to remind him of its presence.

“Shiro,” Keith says quietly, his tone prodding.

Shiro keeps his eyes closed for another long moment, just feeling Keith beside him - there’s a few inches between them on the bench but Shiro can feel the warmth from his arm next to his, can almost kid himself that if he moved just a fraction close the hairs on his arm would brush against those on Keith’s.

He takes a shaky breath.

“Something - my side hurts. Has for about a day now.”

“And why aren’t you going to the infirmary?” Keith asks. Shiro forces himself to open his eyes, staring down at his gym shoes, Keith’s beside them.

“Because I’m scared,” he murmurs.

As though admitting it is a trigger, he has to gird himself against another pulse of pain. His hand trembles where it’s pressed to his side.

He waits for Keith to prompt him to continue, to ask _scared of what?_ But when he glances to the side, Keith’s looking at him with an expression Shiro can’t quite read, though it feels a little like … understanding. His eyes look big without so much hair over them; they’re mostly purple, Shiro realises. He’s not sure he and Keith have ever been in this close proximity before, even when Keith was drunk in his bedroom.

Shiro lets out another sigh.

“I had a disease. In my muscles. Before - all this,” he says, waving his free hand to signify the ship. Space, fighting a war to save all universes. He doesn’t even know who on the Atlas knows this about him, beyond Sam and possibly Matt. “I wasn’t expected to have much of a life past the age I am now. But when Allura transferred my consciousness into the clone - the clone didn’t have the disease. So now I don’t, either. I’m healed.”

_She healed me_ , he thinks to himself, because really, that’s what he believes. He knows the logic is that the clone didn’t have the same muscle wasting disease, but if he were to ever really tell someone about the experience of having Allura bring him back to life in a brand new body and turning his hair completely white, he would have to say that what she did was heal him. Gave him a second chance.

“And now something’s wrong,” Keith finishes for him. His brows knit further together, forehead creasing. “And you’re scared of what it might mean.”

Shiro has to look up at the ceiling, because his eyes are starting to water - partly from the pain, and partly because yet again, Keith just seems to have thoroughly _known_ him in a few short words, and it’s a sensation Shiro’s unfamiliar with, one that throws him a little.

“I never expected to really live past thirty,” he admits. “I mean - I’d have been alive, but barely able to move.”

“I can imagine that would be a fate hard to face, for someone like you,” Keith murmurs. 

Shiro feels he knows Keith enough by now to think the same would apply to him - someone who has spent their young life physically fighting a war, suddenly bound by his own body. Even sitting in a pilot’s seat requires a huge amount of strength and fitness.

“This is the first chance I’ve had to imagine a future,” Shiro says. “And now - it’s already going wrong.”

“You don’t know that,” Keith tells him, and he leans towards Shiro, hands clasped in his lap, face earnest. “This could be nothing major - you just need to get someone to look at it, to know for sure. You have to take care of yourself.”

Shiro nods - he knows this, he does. It’s hard to come to terms with the fact alone that, even after all these years, after fighting for his life in the gladiator arena and defending the universe from evil, he’s still able to be scared into inaction. Scared by his own body.

Keith gives a short laugh, then shaking his head.

“What?” Shiro asks.

“Rich, coming from me, right?” Keith makes a self-deprecating noise. “The Blades don’t exactly promote self-preservation.”

Shiro watches him close his eyes, leaning back on his hands, fingers flexing over the bench as he tips his head back.

“I never really thought I’d live that long either,” he comments, far too casually for the subject matter.

“No?” Shiro can’t help but ask. 

Keith shakes his head.

“Ever since I was old enough to properly understand what the Blades were about … and for a long time it felt like there was no way of winning the war we were fighting. I knew I’d keep fighting, but … I didn’t think I’d be alive at the end of it. In fact, it was only when we joined up with you guys that I really believed there was a chance the war would be over, and even then I didn’t really think I’d survive.”

“You’re so young, though,” Shiro murmurs.

“And you’re not?” Keith cracks an eye open at him and shrugs a shoulder. “It’s the way it had to be. You learn to accept it. And then when it looks like your fate’s changing, it’s hard to accept that instead.”

Shiro stares. His heart’s pounding so loud it’s drowning out some of the pain in his side because god, Keith _understands._

Keith sighs, pushing himself to sit upright again, turning to face Shiro.

“The Galra believe that there’s a place we go when we die in combat - from what I know from Matt, it’s similar to what some on Earth call _Valhalla_ , though the word we use translates a little like your word _Utopia_.”

“The good place,” Shiro says. He remembers learning about it at high school, before he joined the Garrison.

“Right,” Keith nods. “All Galra are raised knowing to die fighting is to die with honour. And when you die, you’ll go to this plane of perfect existence.” He cracks half a smile. “I got confused, though, when I was a kid, when they first told me about it. I thought you could only go to this good place if you died in combat, otherwise if you died in any other way you’d end up in the bad place. Everyone was wondering why I was training like crazy, begging to go on missions so I’d be in combat when I died - I’m not ashamed to say I wasn’t as young as you might think, for believing that.”

“You still believe it?” Shiro asks.

Keith shakes his head.

“Nah. Krolia figured out what I was all twisted up over, and told me the other side of it. See, your word _Utopia_ has another meaning, too. You can also translate it as _nowhere_. The place that doesn’t exist. The thing Krolia told me, about that - the reason we were fighting wasn’t because of what came after death. It was because of now, protecting that. Being able to live now - free.”

Keith gives a soft laugh, smiling at Shiro.

“I don’t really know where I was going with this. Every culture has their beliefs, right? I guess I just want to say that - I understand. You’re not the only one still coming to grips with the idea of having a future.”

He falls silent, and Shiro manages a smile back, albeit a rather shaky one.

“Thank you,” he says, voice quiet.

“You’re welcome,” Keith replies. He pushes himself to his feet. “Can I trust you to go to the infirmary and get yourself checked out?”

Shiro nods; it’s not like the fear has gone, but it’s - improved, at least.

“Think you can handle getting yourself there? I told Allura we’d spar after she’s stretched,” he nods over to where Allura’s finishing up a yoga pose across the gym, eyes closed and head bouncing to the music in her headphones.

Shiro laughs.

“I expect so.”

“Good. Don’t strain yourself.”

Shiro watches Keith head over to Allura, carefully touching her shoulder to get her attention. He sighs, and slowly pushes himself up from the bench.

The pain flares the moment he’s standing upright, and it’s the worst it’s been yet - he groans, stumbling, vision flashing, legs almost crumpling, and he manages to catch himself on the treadmill, but then -

He vomits.

\--

“You know, the upside of this whole situation has been me trying to explain appendicitis to a bunch of aliens who don’t have any clue what an appendix is,” Matt grins from where he’s sat at the foot of Shiro’s hospital bed.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve been able to provide some sort of entertainment at least.”

“Oh you’ve provided a whole damn dinner show, Shiro,” Lance tells him. “The drama of you keeling over in the gym - I don’t know if they’ll ever get the smell of your vomit off the treadmill.”

“Yeah, trying to exercise while your appendix was getting ready to rupture a hole in your stomach probably wasn’t the best idea you’ve ever had,” Hunk frowns. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

“Like there’s three annoying guys crowded ’round my bed,” Shiro finds the strength to quirk an eyebrow. “And like a non-essential organ just tried to explode inside of me and then had to be cut from my body.”

“So, perky,” Lance shrugs. “These are from Allura.”

He brandishes a bouquet of flowers Shiro can tell Allura spent a long time crafting with Colleen; it’s unfortunate that a lot of the petals end up in Shiro’s right nostril.

“Thanks,” he winces. “Could you please put them in a vase where they belong?”

“We should probably let you rest,” Hunk says. “Listen, the minute they let you start eating again you let me know and I’ll whip something more palatable up for you. If you were in the Atlas med-bay, I’d at least have some control over what they feed you …”

“Unfortunate that the aliens aren’t really equipped to treat a very human medical emergency,” Matt smirks. “Guess you’ll have to make do with the Garrison.”

“Not like I didn’t spend most of my time here anyway, before Kerberos,” Shiro sighs. Though really, coming around in the Garrison recovery centre post surgery had reminded him more frighteningly of his time as Zarkon’s prisoner, waking up groggy and sick from the druids’ experiments. His stomach churns now at the flashing memory; he must look bad because Matt gives him a sympathetic smile.

“Try and sleep,” he tells Shiro. He gets up from the bed and slides Shiro’s datapad onto the nightstand. “Just call if you wake up lonely, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Shiro murmurs. He’s nauseous again, but this time from the anaesthetic, and not the appendicitis. He does as Matt suggests and closes his eyes - it’s too hard to keep them open anyway.

“Sleep well,” he hears, and Lance and Hunk chorus their goodbyes and send love from various people, and then it’s quiet, and Shiro sleeps, pain free.

\--

He’s not quite so pain free when he wakes, but it’s certainly more manageable than before; his side aches now from the incision curving along it, and the IV in the back of his hand burns dully.

When he opens his eyes, Keith’s there, sat in a chair near the window, reading a book.

“Hi,” he smiles, when he sees Shiro’s awake. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Shiro tells him. His voice sounds rough but he’s too tired to clear his throat. “I guess I scared you, huh?”

His memory after throwing up in the gym is a bit of a blur, but he does remember Keith shouting his name, carrying him to the infirmary with Allura beside him. He’s not sure where Keith got to by the time they decided he needed to be sent to Earth for surgery as none of the alien doctors knew anything about appendicitis, but that’s Shiro’s last memory, and it’s from about two days ago now.

“I think you won’t be surprised to hear that your paladins are teasing me,” Keith laughs quietly. Shiro watches him close the book and place it on the windowsill. “They said me carrying you all the way to the infirmary by myself was a _feat of great strength_.”

Shiro manages a quiet chuckle. He stretches his fingers out slowly on the duvet, thankful for how soft the pillow beneath his head is - he’s so comfortable he never wants to move.

“I guess it was good to remind them of how strong the Galra are.”

“I suppose you managing to get through nearly two days in space with a rupturing organ in your body could also be considered a feat of great strength, too,” Keith tells him, voice soft.

Shiro doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to react to what Keith’s saying. He could be misunderstanding, could be so doped up on painkillers that he’s mishearing Keith entirely, has conjured this entire conversation in his head. Except, he thinks, watching the way the late afternoon sun shines across the angles of Keith’s face, along the planes of his cheekbones and the slope of his nose, the line of his neck leading down into his Blades suit. There’s no way Shiro could be conjuring up this - he doesn’t have the imagination to create a sight like this.

He sighs, tipping his head back on the pillow.

“Do you want some water?” Keith asks. Shiro nods, and takes the plastic cup Keith passes him with a startlingly weak hand. It’s a job to not spill any water down himself, and he hands it back gratefully to Keith when he’s done.

“I should have gotten it looked at sooner,” he sighs. “I was stupid - I could have died.”

Keith stays silent, head cocked to the side, gaze easy. Something about it prickles at Shiro, like how his skin used to feel after being in the sun too long; it doesn’t seem like it should be like this. Like Keith would come here, for him.

“So,” Shiro starts, if only to fill the silence of the room, the only other sounds that of the nurses in the corridors, the noises of a few machines drifting in through the open hospital room door. “What brings you here?”

“You weren’t wrong,” Keith says. “I was scared - I’ve been worried, last couple days. This was the first opportunity I could get down here to see you.”

_Why_ , Shiro wants to press, but he knows the answer might terrify him.

“It’s … if you’re too tired. I don’t have to stay, if you’d rather sleep,” Keith tells him, voice soft, but Shiro shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “No, it’s - it’s fine.” He stops himself from saying _stay. Please._

Keith leans back in his chair, looking out of the window at the desert around the Garrison. When they first took Shiro to this room, after he woke up from surgery, seeing the desert hit harder than he’d thought it would - like he’d somehow forgotten the years spent here, sneaking out with a hoverbike after dark, the sand kicking up quietly behind him in his wake. He used to think about living here, out in the desert, when he retired - not at the Garrison, of course, but close enough in case they ever needed him ...

The look on Keith’s face is hard to read, especially as, in a stroke of rarity, he’s not frowning like he so often is.

“The desert here’s pretty weird, right?” Shiro says, following his gaze beyond the window, out across the evening light. “When I first came here it scared me, it looked so barren. But I wound up loving how open it is. You can’t really hide out there.”

Something passes across Keith’s face.

“I know,” he murmurs. He’s still looking away from Shiro. “I used to live in a desert.”

It’s the most information Keith’s willingly offered up about himself, without Shiro asking, and it’s - so much, and so little. And Shiro knows he should swallow all of his questions about _where, when, why_ , but for once they’re not bubbling up, ready to rush out. He gets an innate feeling that in time, without prompting, Keith will probably tell him. Maybe even everything.

And that’s so wildly different to not that long ago - a couple months, perhaps, when Keith was still just the smallest of the Blades, always wearing a mask - that Shiro’s chest goes tight enough to make him feel breathless.

“So,” he settles for, exhaling slowly. “You must feel rather at home here, then.”

Still looking away, a leg folded over his knee, Keith nods.

Shiro lets himself look, for a few long moments, take in the sight of Keith in the evening light in the window of his hospital room, before he falls asleep again. He has no way of knowing how long it could last, if he even deserves it, and so he drinks it in hungrily.

“Well,” he murmurs. “I guess I shouldn’t keep you. And I should probably apologise, for scaring you.”

Keith’s head turns slowly, like it’s difficult for his eyes to pull away from the view of the desert. He blinks at Shiro slowly, and then reaches for a pocket on his suit that Shiro didn’t even know he had.

“I have something for you,” he says.

“Not flowers?” Shiro smiles. Colleen and Romelle both sent bouquets down, and Iverson sent a very formal card with a Garrison logo on the back. Kolivan sent a note signed on behalf of the Blades, though Shiro guesses not on behalf of all of them.

Keith shakes his head, and turns in his chair to move closer to Shiro’s bed.

“Here,” he says. He places something on the nightstand, and Shiro has to twist his neck a little to see it properly. “I guess I’m doing this out of order, but …”

He lifts his hand, and Shiro sees that it’s - a rock. A stone as red as one of Jupiter’s moons, and Shiro still marvels over the fact that he’s seen them in person, close enough to be able to make that comparison. There’s a few crumbs of dirt that end up trailed over the white of the nightstand; Shiro can see it staining the fingertips of Keith’s suit.

He looks up at Keith, gaze questioning. Keith looks - nervous, maybe.

“It’s a rock, from the desert. From my homeland.” He gestures towards the window, the desert beyond it. “This desert. I … I grew up out here.”

It’s all Shiro can do not to gape. He’s not even looking at the rock now, can’t even think of looking away from Keith’s face, which has cleared. He looks sure of what he’s said, and his gaze on Shiro is warm. And yet - Shiro can’t quite process it, can’t even think of how to respond, because of what this undoubtedly means …

“Shiro,” Keith says softly, and it’s not the first time he’s said Shiro’s name this way, to prompt him in his hesitant silence. 

But - Shiro just looks helplessly back at him, unable to open his mouth, to respond properly. To ask if this means what he thinks it means.

The smile Keith gives him is a little sad, but it’s still warm.

“Well,” he says, pushing himself up from his seat. “I should let you rest. I’ll try and come by again in the next few days, unless they think you’re well enough to recover on the Atlas.”

Shiro nods, watching him cross the room. He looks from the rock on the nightstand to Keith, nearing the door, and something desperate leaps in his chest, despite the tired ache of his entire body.

“Where are you going?”

Keith glances over his shoulder, a hand already on the doorframe.

“I, uh. I told Lotor I’d go look at his new ship,” he says, tone a little self-deprecating.

Shiro snorts quietly.

“He’s not subtle, is he.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Keith asks, turning away from the door. The desperate thing in Shiro’s chest turns warm and pleased at this development. “To know what he wants, and pursue it?”

Shiro must look a little surprised, because Keith shakes his head with a soft laugh.

“Haven’t you been listening to what Antok’s always saying? _The Blade of Marmora do not take chances._ ” The expression on his face goes a little tight at the edges, another of those smiles that’s both sad and warm. “Why take a chance on someone if you’re not sure they’re really interested? If they don’t know if they want you?”

The warmth in Shiro’s chest turns desperate again, and this time it’s tinged with panic as he watches Keith turn to leave again.

“Keith,” he says, and despite his fatigue, the rasp in his throat, he makes his voice as clear and as firm as he can.

“Yes?” Keith’s looking at him over his shoulder again.

Shiro swallows against the desperate, panicking thing in his chest.

“When I’m better, and out of bed - I want to take you out. On a date. It’s, uh -” he feels himself flail slightly, but pushes on. “I know it’s not much, but - I’d like to go on a date with you. If you’d like to go with me.”

There’s silence between them, for a moment. A smile unfurls bright and slow across Keith’s face.

“Okay,” he nods. “Yeah - I’d like that. Please.”

Shiro smiles back, feeling himself sink properly into the bed, tiredness threatening at the corners of his vision.

“Well,” Keith says. “I’ll, uh - I’ll see you then. When you’ve recovered.”

“You’re just gonna leave? Without even a get-well-soon kiss?” 

Shiro feels a grin on his face that he hasn’t felt in a long time, not since he first met Adam, maybe even before then - he used to be good at this, he remembers, used to love talking to other boys and making them smile.

He feels the familiar kick of reward when he catches a hint of a blush on Keith’s cheeks. When he crosses the room back to the side of Shiro’s bed, he’s still smiling.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” he says, laughing softly, and Shiro hears it in his voice, now. Just a hint of the local accent, vowels curving in a way that’s been familiar to Shiro for many years. He wonders how he never noticed it before.

Shiro attempts a shrug - as best as he can lying down - and smiles up at Keith. As Keith bends, a hand coming up to brush against Shiro’s cheek, he obediently closes his eyes, and after a beat feels Keith’s lips press carefully against his.

It’s soft, a little dry, but Shiro reaches a hand up to hold the back of Keith’s head and pull him in a little closer, his mouth pressing a touch firmer against Keith’s. His head feels warm in Shiro’s palm.

Keith’s grinning when he pulls away, shaking his head as though in disbelief. His cheeks look especially pink in the evening light filtering through the window.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, proven correct when Shiro’s mouth stretches around a yawn.

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

Keith looks a little surprised at the question, even glances towards the door, and Shiro can’t pretend he’s forgotten about where Keith said he’d be. But if he’s going to be as honest and open as Keith’s managed to be today, with him, then he has to ask it.

“Do you want me to be here?” Keith asks carefully.

Without hesitation, Shiro nods. He smiles when Keith nods back, firmly.

“Okay,” he says. “Then I’ll be here.”

And with that, he bends to press another soft kiss to Shiro’s forehead, a hand smoothing Shiro’s bangs back, and then he sits back down in the seat by the window. Shiro takes another long look at him in the evening light, the desert stretched out behind him. When Keith picks up the book he’d left on the nightstand (beside the rock), shifting in the chair to get comfortable, Shiro closes his eyes to go to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm vaguely on [twitter](https://twitter.com/littlecather) and [tumblr](https://lil-elderflowerpresse.tumblr.com/).


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